


Sleep Is For The Weak

by SleeplessInGeneral



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: And Holocaust mentions, Emile is incredibly strong and deserves credit for it, Forms of child abuse, Let’s say it this way, M/M, Mentions and discussion of dysphoria, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of slashers, Panic Attacks, Specific mental disorders, Told y’all this is a heavy one didn’t I, Transphobia in general, Trigger warnings also include, You're Welcome, aka the Remy-centric Keep Him Safe prequel, and I think that’s about it, by that i mean, conversion therapy, deadnaming and misgendering, discussions of tragic real-life events, homophobia and homophobic slurs, implied suicide and minor character death, mentions of blood (in the form of periods), mentions of food, period appropriate transphobia, psychological abuse, so many OCs I gave myself a headache, substance use, such as murders, the 00s were a very interesting time to be trans, trust me I did my research, we also discuss serious murder cases here in hell, welcome to hell (we have cookies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleeplessInGeneral/pseuds/SleeplessInGeneral
Summary: (MASSIVE spoilers for chapter 14 and onwards of Keep Him Safe by Whatwashernameagain)Rebecca Harris was born four years after the term “gender identity disorder” became the official classification for trans people by the APA.It took about fourteen years for him to change his name to Remy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keep him safe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358727) by [Whatwashernameagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatwashernameagain/pseuds/Whatwashernameagain). 



> This fic was created when I realized that Remy would be fantastic as a neurologist (there's a whole branch of neurology dedicated to sleep, after all), and when I told my best friend (@broadwaytheanimatedseries on tumblr) they immediately told me "honestly I could totally see you writing a prequel story about Remy for KHS, like, honestly you should talk to Eva about that because, like, like honestly like..." (yeah, us ESL speakers are very good with our words... it's a very long recording they sent me okay).
> 
> So, welcome to Sleep Is For The Weak. Also known as the Remy-centric prequel (that is written strictly while listening to Britney Spears and Destiny's Child). (I'm not even joking, that is all I'm listening to while writing this.) We're glad to have you here, where Remy is an angry sass child, Emile needs a hug, and things just aren't going as well as you'd want them to.
> 
> Please, enjoy the ride. And now,  
> Allons-y!

The University of Michigan was the most boring place Rebecca ever went to. Then again, it wasn’t like it was her fault. She didn’t want to be here. It wasn’t her idea at all. That program she was in in Columbia basically just signed her up to this stupid summer camp thingy after talking to her parents, without asking her anything about it. And how fair is that, huh, Columbia?

Not. Fun. (Also not funny, for that matter.)

It wasn’t even a camp. It was like summer school for geniuses. And there was a reason geniuses did not need summer school.

That. Was.  _Preposterous_. There was no point in motherfucking hell in sending him to summer school, in Michigan of all places, when he was already—

Yeah, okay. Maybe he overreacted just a tad bit.

However, there were some positives. Michigan wasn’t that bad (surprisingly), the girls she was rooming with were hilarious (especially that Sammy girl who carried her ukulele around), the classes were kinda sorta interesting… sorta…

The highlight of camp, though, was this one boy. His name was Logan. He was a teensy bit older, slightly taller, wore glasses and was a massive frigging nerd.

And she liked him. (A bushel and a peck.)

On the first day of camp “activities”, which basically just meant going to class without actually being at school (complete nonsense, in her opinion), they were asked to say their name, their age, and what they want to do when they grow up.

“I’m Sammy, I’m thirteen and I want to be a writer.”

“I’m Evan, I’m twelve and I want to be a doctor.”

It just went on like that for a bit. When it was her turn, she suddenly felt sick. It wasn’t a new feeling, this… sickness. It’s been there forever.

And he had no idea why.

“I’m Becca, y’all, I’m twelve and a half, and I wanna be a psychiatrist.”

Rebecca hated introducing herself to people.

“I’m Logan,” said the kid next to her. “I’m thirteen, and I want to be a cop.”

* * *

 

“Logan!” It was the fifth time that day that Rebecca looked for her only friend at “camp”.

“I was trying to read.”

“I don’t care, lovely, we gonna talk and you’re gonna participate. Ain’t no time for your book, darling.”

Once the book was closed and put down, once Logan fixed his glasses, it was time to embarrass herself in front of the person she considered to be her only friend here.

“Lolo, my sweetheart, my lovely, my precious little angel, i have something very important to tell you. I’m gay.”

He did not look shocked in the least.

“You gon’ say anything, sweetie?”

“…you’re gay. Like… like Ellen?”

“Oh, no! I like boys way too much, darling.”

That was when he got shocked. “But… aren’t you gay?”

“Yes, Logan. I’m gay.”

“…okay, I guess.”

* * *

 

There was no point to making “friendship bracelets” or any of that. Once the program was over, it was over. Rebecca turned thirteen and went back to school, but other than that, nothing really changed. Her mother still watched Friends like her life depended on it, her dad was still trying to learn to cook more than scrambled eggs. The program in Columbia still focused more on utter nonsense than on actual psychology. Nothing changed.

Not even the sick feeling she felt every time she introduced herself.

Only ‘herself’ didn’t feel right anymore. It never did, not really. It’s what made him sick. So why did she— he? Why did he keep doing this?

“Mom, I need to talk to you…”

Her - his? - mom was watching Friends when she (he? Maybe he should try he instead of she) got home from school. She always did, ever since that show first aired. It was a disaster.

His mom was a disaster.

“What’s going on, sweetie?”

“I’m gay.”

Why did she look so concerned? It wasn’t like he didn’t make it clear. Obviously he liked boys. It wasn’t like it wasn’t the most obvious fucking thing ever.

Right?

“Becca, are you okay?”

“Well, yeah…”

“But… you know what? We’ll talk about this with your dad later.”

And then they did. His dad was… to say the least, probably even more confused than his mom.

“But you don’t like girls, Rebecca! At least not… that way!”

“Well, maybe I’m not a girl! Ever thought that was an option?” He let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “This is ridiculous! My own parents refuse to believe me! What have I done to deserve this?”

And then - and then - everything turned silent. His mother looked at him like a deer in headlights, and his father… he almost cried.

Maybe… maybe it was a tad bit too soon.

And then his mom spoke.

“Go to your room, Rebecca.”

“But—“

“Go to your room!”

Regardless, he listened. He could always hear it when his parents were screaming. There was no pretending otherwise. And they screamed a lot.

“What are we doing wrong with her? What did we do wrong with her? Are we being too harsh? Are we—“

“She needs our help! He needs our help! We need to be there and—“

“I did not give birth to a—“

Among all the shouting, though, he heard something rather nice.

“She needs to see a psychiatrist, Linda!  _He_  needs to see a psychiatrist!”

* * *

 

Rebecca Harris was born four years after the term “gender identity disorder” became the official classification for trans people by the APA.

It took about fourteen years for him to change his name to Remy.

And four years after that for his life to fully change as well.

* * *

 

_September 2002_

“Why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves?”

Just like summer school.

“I’m Kelsey and I’m bisexual.”

“I’m Tessa and I’m a lesbian.”

It went on like that for a bit. Some elaborated beyond that, some didn’t really give that much of a fuck. And then it got to him.

He no longer felt sick introducing himself.

“I’m Remy, I’m gay as fuck, and my doctor won’t let me start transitioning to male until I’m twenty-five.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (September, 2002)
> 
> “I’m Remy, I’m gay as fuck, and my doctor won’t let me start transitioning to male until I’m twenty-five.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this chapter was not planned exactly the way it is now, but I'm really glad it's what it is. Like, really... you'll see.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the ride, and...  
> Allons-y!

_September 2002_

“I’m Remy, I’m gay as fuck, and my doctor won’t let me start transitioning to male until I’m twenty-five.”

There were eleven hundred things Remy could do other than coming to this support group, but classes wasn’t about to start for about a week. He’d already settled in his room, met his suitemates, did all the shit he had to do… what else was there to do?

His four suitemates were the incredibly annoying Katherine (old money, raised in D.C.), the tiny but deadly Lucy (born and raised in Massachusetts, knows all the cool places around here), the insanely beautiful Rashida (hailing all the way from London, she was very disappointed to know that she couldn’t legally drink here), and his old camp friend. Sammy and the ukulele.

He even introduced himself as Remy to them, and they were all so incredibly sweet and accepting. His suitemates were… wonderful.

“Hello, Remy.” India, the instructor (was it right to call her that?), had the sweetest smile. It was hard not to like her.

As much as he wanted to. Initially at least.

The meeting went by so quickly. India informed the group that the next meeting will be on Friday, and that she has a cellphone if anyone ever needs to talk to her outside of meetings. She also asked for help organizing the place. The five people who stayed behind to help her got a taste of her rather eccentric musical taste (a mix of mostly Britney Spears, Backstreet Boys and Black Sabbath).

“Did you watch Boys Don’t Cry?” Remy stopped singing (blasphemy, really; Stronger was, like, his anthem or something.) and turned to face the speaker. He didn’t care enough to remember her name. She was one of those special snowflakes with the posh voice and the shit.

“Were you born before or after Boys Don’t Cry came out?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what makes you think you’re a boy, that is all.”

The opening beats of I’m A Slave 4 U started playing in the background. “Did you watch But I’m A Cheerleader, babe? I’m just trying to figure out what makes you think you’re a lesbian, that is all.”

She didn’t answer him. Well, her loss.

"So you’re straight.”

The bitch was at it again.

“Sweetie, the only straight I am is a straight up bitch. I like boys way too much!”

“So you’re straight.”

Well, wasn’t that a delightful encounter. “Look, babe, you’re being stupid. If you keep pressing me I will fucking fight you, okay? I’m gay. I like my men like I like my tea, which is any way I could get it. I’m not gonna fight you over this because I know that I’m correct.”

“Is there a problem here, kiddos?” India (thankfully) interrupted.

“No problem, just asking some questions.”

“Well, they better be respectful questions, Amanda. This group is a safe place. Okay?”

So her name was Amanda. And apparently she was terrified of the tiny little (fake? Fake) redhead who ran this group. Good.

"You okay, Remy?”

“Why, everything’s coming up roses, darling. But that was just a showcase of her stupidity.”

“Yeah. I heard everything… well, don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, okay? Us victims of "gender identity disorder” must stick together.“

Remy could not stop thinking about it as he walked back to Weld Hall. ‘Us victims of gender identity disorder’.

He had an ally.

* * *

 

"I saw a bunny,” Katherine declared the moment she entered the common room.

“Good for you, sweet cheeks,” Lucy told her.

“I brought it here! Do we have carrots?”

Lo and behold, Katherine had a small, gray bunny in her arms. There was absolutely no explanation to why she would have a bunny other than she stole it.

But that was a few days ago. After three days of feeding it lettuce and cleaning the poop from the common room floor every day, the bunny was driving everyone (but Katherine) kind of insane. So Remy was not surprised, and actually kind of relieved, when he saw a tiny boy with glasses at the suite door when he came back from the group meeting.

“Can I help you with anything, babe?”

“I’m sorry,” the kid said - probably the worst opener he could’ve used. “I just… I went through the whole building this past couple days. I lost my bunny…”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Katherine!

“Well, babe, today’s your lucky day. My suitemate happened to steal a bunny just a couple days ago. Wanna come in and get it?”

“Oh, thank goodness! I thought he might have-”

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on in, get your bunbun.”

“Thanks again!” That kid was adorable. Remy was so close to melting. He kinda reminded him of Logan.

“My pleasure, lovely.”

Who knows, maybe that kid was somehow related to Logan. Remy regretted not making friendship bracelets or keeping in touch. Logan was his best camp friend.

"I can’t thank you enough,” that kid said, the bunny in his arms. “Really. Mycroft is… he’s like…”

“Who names their bunny Mycroft?”

“Katherine, baby girl, shut your motherfucking mouth, okay?”

“I… I’m Emile, I live down the hall so… yeah. Okay, I'll… go now. Sorry to bother you!”

“Sorry for taking your bunny,” Katherine said in her usual monotone from the couch. “I like the bunny.”

“You can come later to play with the bunny, if you want… I’m three doors down the hallway.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo. How’s school?”

“Classes haven’t started yet. I don’t know.”

“And your roommates?”

“One of them offered to help me bind and the others just… don’t seem to mind that much.”

“That’s good, huh? Any friends?”

“My suitemates for now.”

“That’s good, that's… yeah. So… you’re coming this weekend?”

“Dad, no! This weekend?! Are you fucking crazy?”

“I’m kidding! Remy, calm down!”

“Yeah, well, that’s not fucking funny, Dad.”

“Your mom called.” A moment of awkward silence. “She’ll be in Boston next week.”

“Did you tell her?”

“Remy, she’s your mom. You have to see her at least once a year.”

“I could’ve gone to Columbia, that is and always will be five minutes away from home. Or Cornell, Ithaca isn’t so far. Heck, I could’ve gone to motherfucking Penn or to UCLA if I wanted to get real far away, but no! I went to fucking Harvard! And I trusted you very much to not tell her! This is preposterous, Dad. I asked you not to tell her!”

“Is it shark week yet, kiddo?”

“No! I don’t know!”

“Okay. No, I didn’t tell her you’re in Harvard. I didn’t tell her where you are at all. I swear.”

“Can I, like, not see her though?”

“Not an option, kiddo. I don’t want you to either.”

“So why do I have to?”

“She’s your mother. She still wants to see you.”

“I would much rather she wasn’t my mother.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. So classes?”

“My first class is science of living systems 20…”

“Well, you chose this degree.”

“I know, but… I don't… get it? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hey, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I gotta go.”

“What, you got a date?”

“You can say. I’m gonna call you tomorrow. I expect to hear everything about that science of living systems 20 thing.”

“Have fun on your date, Dad! Don’t get her too drunk! Or do, that’s up to you!”

He hung up. Rashida was dancing to something in the common room (it was Gorillaz, last time anyone checked), the others were… God knows where. And Remy…

Remy didn’t know what to do.

’ _yo boo wanna watch hedwig and the angry inch sometime?_ ’

’ _From: India  
_ _sure! just tell me when xx_ ’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science of Living Systems 20 actually wasn’t as bad as Remy thought it would be. It was rather cool, actually.
> 
> Well, at least he hoped it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am equally in love and in deep hate with some (a lot) of what’s going on in here, and I am terribly, terribly sorry. And also there are some characters I wanted to explore a bit further than what had been in this part, but… I’m working on it. Give it a bit and I’ll get there.
> 
> Now, note that this chapter is very much heavier on the transphobia, simply because of one particular character. They'll appear later too, there's no need to lie about it, but... yeah... it's harsh. So please be careful with this one. Skip "It was a beautiful afternoon" all the way until "I'm so sorry" if you need to.
> 
> And now, enjoy and,  
> Allons-y. (Yeah, I'm not that excited either.)

Science of Living Systems 20 actually wasn't as bad as Remy thought it would be. It was rather cool, actually.

Well, at least he hoped it was.

The head of the department was… an interesting individual. Remy met with him during the application process. The man insisted on calling him "Miss Harris" and speaking to and about him in girl pronouns, and Remy understood why.

For some reason, though, Remy expected all the professors to be like that. And not such was the case.

"Rebecca Harris, I want to see you later in my office."

Doctor Gilliam was in his late thirties, called everyone by their first and last names, thought that being single was hilarious, made really bad puns in his lectures (though Remy heard, not as much outside of them), and tried his best to be "hip with the kids". It was worrying, to say the least. And… yeah, Remy was slightly terrified.

"I'm kind of worried, kid," Gilliam said the moment Remy walked in. "You don't look too-"

"Excuse me, Doctor, but I don't know what this is about."

"Have you heard about shadows and personae, Rebecca Harris?" Remy shook his head, terrified to say a word. "Well, it's quite an interesting concept. According to Carl Jung, you'll learn about him later, the persona is the mask you wear in the world. It's what you want others to see. The shadow is your innermost self, the parts of your identity that you wish to hide from others."

"Okay, and?"

"I think your persona might be cracking."

What… was going on?

"I'm not making sense, am I? I'm sorry. There's a lot that goes into that theory and I shouldn't confuse you this much, at least not until we get to it."

Yeah… it was weird.

"So, my point is… you can talk to me if anything is making you uncomfortable, okay?"

"Okay… I guess."

"Well, that is all," Doctor Gilliam said, fixing his glasses.

That… was weird. But okay. If that's how he wants to do things. Remy wasn't going to complain.

He was definitely better than the head of department.

* * *

 

There was a knock at the door.

Abby, their RA, was over earlier. Apparently Katherine had a bit of a scene right after class. So naturally, Remy assumed it would be Abby. No one else could be knowing on their door at ten thirty pm-

"We don't have your bunny this time. You can go."

Oh.

"Oh, no, I just…" Remy could hear that… kid? Whatever his name was, from the door. "I just need… I need someone to help me with something. And…"

"Oh. Remy can help."

"No I can't," Remy replied. "I need sleep and so do you!"

"It won't take long, I promise!"

"...fine." Remy got off the couch - the nice, comfy couch, where there was a blanket and his sols20 book - to the door. Where that kid (Emile? Emile) was looking at him with those big blue eyes and…

Yeah, Remy regretted unbinding. (Well, no. He did not. But also kind of did.)

"Hey… Rebecca, right-"

"His name is Remy."

Emile seemed shocked for a moment. _Oh shit_. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I just… I see you in most of my classes, so… never mind. So… how are you with baking?"

* * *

 

"So my sister Julie is LaVeyan—"

"Aren't we supposed to be baking cookies, babe?"

"Yeah, but… the stuff's all in the cabinets and I'm looking!"

Emile was a disaster child, Remy decided after only five minutes alone together. He brought a violin and his bunny to the kitchen in the pursuit of baking cookies - like, what even? - and he just seemed so… energetic? Happy? Whatever the word was. A couple minutes ago he was talking about the cookies, sure, but then he switched it to the importance of guided imagery, and then why Li Shang from Mulan is bisexual, and now… what was he even talking about?

"So my sister is a LaVeyan Satanist," Emile repeated himself, almost climbing on the counter to reach a cabinet. "It's kinda funny, actually. My dad's side of the family are all Catholic, and— can you put the sugar on the countertop, please? Thank you!"

"Sweetie, for the eleventh time this past ten minutes, I understand nothing you're saying."

"Am I speaking another language or something? Because if so I'm sorry!"

"No, it's just…" How does he not hurt his feelings? "It's just… you talk fast and about a lot of subjects at the same time."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

Maybe he thought Remy couldn't hear, but there was definitely a "this is just one of the things that are wrong about me" thrown in the air.

Emile didn't speak to him for the rest of the process. Maybe once or twice he pointed out a step or an ingredient, but overall he did not speak. At all. And then the cookies were in the oven…

And then he pulled out his violin.

"Is this really necessary?"

"I'm not talking to you."

"Emile, is it because of something I said?" Emile, still pouting (as he had been for a good hour and some now), nodded. "Well, I'm sorry. Please don't silent treatment me."

"I talk too fast and too much."

"Not what I said. I just said I can't follow you. I didn't say it's your fault. Please don't—"

Emile pretty much just ignored Remy (uhh, _rude_!) and positioned his violin, and started to play something… quite angrily.

After a minute and a half Remy recognized it as Once Upon a Dream from Sleeping Beauty.

After another three minutes, he dared open his mouth again. "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to. Do you accept my apology?"

"...fine."

It was not fine. Absolutely not.

"Thanks for the help with the cookies," he said as they separated at the top of the stairs, all one-hundred-and-ninety cookies (Emile insisted on quadrupling the recipe) safely packed in plastic boxes and hidden away. "I… I'm gonna go now."

"Emile, please." He turned around, still looking quite pissed. (It was probably the hour, Remy tried telling himself. It's already past one am. This is not good.) "Are you mad that I said I'm confused?"

"To be honest with you, yes! Yes, I'm mad. I know it wasn't your intention but I heard you say shut the fuck up when you said that. And it hurt. Very badly."

...oh.

"I'm going to forgive you, but it's going to take me a bit, so please don't be mad at me, okay?" Emile honestly looked close to tears. "Good night, Remy. I'll see you in living systems tomorrow."

And then he went to his suite, violin and bunny with him. 

Remy just got himself into a huge mess.

* * *

 

It was a beautiful afternoon in Boston when Remy found himself at the rather posh Italian place his mom wanted to meet at.

Before their divorce in late 1999, just after Remy turned fifteen, his father started contacting a charity organization dedicated to help transgender youth. He educated himself. Tried to educate his wife as well. But… apparently it was the last straw for Linda. The very night he tried to even just explain that it's not her fault, that it's how he was born, she packed up her things and left.

The divorce papers came in less than two months later. The divorce was finalized in November 1999. Remy did not see her since.

(Yeah… that was a lie. He actually hasn't seen her since Christmas 2001. But that was still a very long time. Almost a year is a long time.)

"Well, at least the weather's nice." And there she was with her new boy toy. Glamorous as ever, with her stupidly huge sunglasses and her bright red (disgustingly fake, makes India's hair seem real) curly bob, looking exactly the same as she did that day Remy came out to her.

A few hours later, though. When she thought he was asleep and left the house to go to some party.

"Well, at least you're still not very nice, Linda," he said with a smirk as he sat down next to her boy toy (he actually looks kinda nice, for a forty-something year old). "But much unlike the weather, I don't think this is a thing that can change so easily."

"Where are your manners, Rebecca?"

"The same place those diamond earrings you forgot when you left us are. At home with Dad, probably watching South Park."

"Well, at least we left the girls at home." Linda took off her sunglasses and replaced them with a normal, frameless pair of glasses. "I don't believe you met Stephen before, Rebecca."

"I don't believe I've met a Rebecca before, Linda."

"Are you ready to order?"

It took about two minutes for all the orders to place (of course _Stephen_ had to order something overly fancy, because _why the fuck not_ ) before she started yapping again.

"Rebecca, I didn't ask to see you for you to be so rude to me."

"I didn't ask to see you, period."

"What would you like to be called, then?" Stephen asked. Well…

"Remy. My name is Remy."

"Your name is—"

"My name is not Rebecca! I haven't gone by that name since I was fourteen. Dad never called me that since the day I asked him to call me Remy. You're the only one who ever insisted, how do you think it made me feel?"

"How do you think it made _me_ feel, Rebecca?" Remy hoped no one was looking. "My own _daughter_. I jeopardized my own high school graduation to have you because your father was dumb enough to forget the condoms. I gave up _life-long dreams_ just to raise you, because that retard of a father you have _couldn't_. Is this how you repay me?"

There was a very awkward silence, that was broken by an unfamiliar voice - deep, with a southern drawl - and a confused "Rebecca?"

India. Without her makeup, her hair pulled back.

Looking almost perfectly manly.

"Excuse me?" Linda straightened her glasses, glaring at India. Oh, how Remy did not want this to happen… "And you are?"

"Ian McGinty, ma'am. I'm her boyfriend."

_Oh_.

"Your father didn't tell me you have a boyfriend," Linda spoke slowly.

"Because he doesn't know everything. And my name is still Remy."

"Ethan and I are gonna go now," India said, her voice still lower, still more southern than normal. "Text me when you're done, we'll go get ice cream?"

"...sure."

And then she leaned down and said, in the voice Remy grew to know and absolutely adore, "we're going to talk about this. Don't worry, I got your back."

And then she was gone.

"So a boyfriend, huh?" 

"...so how many men have you fucked before meeting Stephen, _Linda_?"

* * *

 

"I'm so sorry about your mom, baby."

India's brother, Ethan, looked nothing like her. Well, he looked like a more manly, less boyish version of ‘manly' India, but also nothing alike. He also didn't talk much. So that was fun.

India took them to get ice cream indeed. (And much like her music taste, her favorite ice cream flavors - burnt caramel and earl grey - were rather… interesting. But she did swear that Toscanini's was probably the best ice cream in Cambridge, and who was Remy to argue with her?)

"It's alright. She's always been like this."

"Doesn't make it alright." Ethan grunted in agreement. "Take it from me, Remy. It's never alright."

"Does he have an Esther?"

India's eyes rolled so far back. "Do you think that every trans person have to have an Esther, Ethan? Do you truly think it's how we realize our identity?"

"It's how you did yours."

"I knew I'm a girl since the moment I understood who I am. Any related accidents after that are purely incidental."

"India, I think I fucked up." She looked up at him from her half-melted ice cream cup. "I told you about Emile, right?"

"You're still stuck on that?" Remy nodded. "Look… that kid told you he forgives you. You saw him in class since then, he didn't say anything to you… you're doing fine, sweetie."

"Is that his real boyfriend?"

"Ethan, shut the fuck up or I'll call mom. Remy…" India turned to play with his hair.

Yeah, it was very calming.

"He sounds like a very sweet kid. Trust me, there's no way you fucked anything up. You'll be okay. You'll get to hang out with him again, and it will be okay. Now eat your ice cream, you have the best ice cream, and then we're going back to your dorm and we're going to watch Priscilla. Or Hedwig. Whatever suits your fancy, okay?"

"...okay."

"Now, let's talk more about your mom and why it isn't okay that she treats you like that."

And for a bit, everything just seemed alright. Well, almost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Today, we’re going to do things a bit differently.”
> 
> Saturday, October 12th, 2002
> 
> “Raise your hand if the idea of coming out, even if you’re already out, terrifies the living hell out of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that one chapter that gives you hell for a while because you know the beginning and the end and can't seem to figure out the middle?
> 
> (God bless Lady Gaga for helping me tackle that, amirite.)
> 
> Random warning, this chapter deals with two cases of real life murders that took place in 1993 and 2002 that I would consider tragic. One has been made into a very successful movie (would be rather easy to guess which one, if you've read the previous chapters and know the name mentioned in this chapter). But also the typical trigger warnings apply here too. Just... be careful. Please.
> 
> And so, without further ado,  
> Allons-y!

“Today, we’re going to do things a bit differently.”

_Saturday, October 12th, 2002_

“Raise your hand if the idea of coming out, even if you’re already out, terrifies the living hell out of you.”

Almost all hands flew up.

“Raise your hand if you understand the dangers of staying closeted too.”

Pretty much everyone took their hands down. Only very few stayed.

“Last week,” India said after a long breath, “we lost… the community lost one of our own. We… we lost someone to hate crime.” She lowered her hand. Remy was almost in pain, seeing her try to talk about it. She called him last night, asking him if it’s not going to be too much for him (and if so, she has another thing planned). “Gwen Araujo was seventeen when she died because she was outed as transgender in a party.”

“Wasn’t this released, like, two days ago?”

“Yes, and that’s why I want to talk to you about this. Just… excuse me. I wrote it all down… it’s kind of a tough subject…”

It took India a minute to settle her voice, and another couple seconds to fumble with some papers. “I’ll bet you all remember where you were when the World Trade Center fell in September eleventh last year.” The room fell into silence. “I’ll also bet none of you remember where you were on new year’s eve in 1993.”

Remy knew exactly where this was going.

“It could be because you were nine years old, which is the case for some of us, or you were already in bed by ten. I know my parents insisted that I’d go to bed by ten that night for a couple reasons. But on December thirty-first, 1993, we lost another member of the community. His story was turned into an Oscar-winning movie, but l can assure you none of you remember where you were when Brandon Teena was murdered for being born a girl.”

The chatter was back. Remy could isolate some of the comments. Not most, just some. And it hurt. The ones he managed to isolate were not good, but one was much louder than the other.

“Can you really compare the murder of thousands to the death of just one person?”

“No I can’t. But what you fail to realize here is that I’m not comparing anything here. I’m just trying to bring up a subject—”

“And you’re using the tragedy of others to—”

“I lost family in September eleventh. I’m well aware of the tragedy. I’m also aware of the fact that transgender people are killed at ridiculous rates and this is something we should discuss!”

The silence after that was incredibly unbearable. India was close to tears, and Remy… as much as he wanted to go hug her, he couldn’t.

It was that painful.

“Today’s topic was supposed to be discrimination and hate,” Remy heard someone shouting into the air - one of the juniors probably. “We do this conversation every year. Please listen to what the poor girl has to say. She’s only volunteering to do this, on top of—”

“That’s okay, Chris. I don’t need an advocate.”

It was going to be a long meeting, and Remy was not looking forward to it.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak today.”

“You did alright. Sometimes doing nothing is a good thing.”

India was incredibly frustrated when they finally got to Kirkland House. Remy insisted on going with her, to make sure that nothing else happened. She called him a gentleman for doing that.

It was sweet of her.

She ranted a bit about a guy who lived on the same floor as her (Jared Kushner or something) who was a dick to her and tried flirting with her girlfriend all the time, she told him that she applied to get a master’s degree in forensics at Georgetown after graduation, and then they reached Kirkland House.

“You can get back to Harvard Yard from here, right?”

“Of course. Who do you think I am?”

India kissed his cheek and waved goodbye, and went into Kirkland House. And then Remy was alone. Well, not entirely, he still had to go back to Weld Hall and call his dad, but…

He was alone.

The yard wasn’t as crowded as it was earlier and the weather was cooling down considerably, the leaves were changing… Harvard Yard was a beautiful place in the fall, Remy learned quickly enough.

He had very little time to process his thoughts when he was almost tackled to the ground by a tiny blonde kid almost running in the direction of the exit. Aka, the main road.

“How is it that when we’re outside of class we keep running into each other in the weirdest ways?”

“That’s less weird than how my grandparents met,” Emile said, breathless.

“Not what I said, babe.”

“No, really! My grandpa was coming back to Amsterdam from London just as my grandma was on her way to London straight out of Auschwitz, and—”

“Can we keep this story for another time?”

“…sure.” Emile gave Remy a half-smile. “So… I kinda have to go to Party City. I need to stock up for Halloween.”

“Didn’t you go there two weeks ago?”

“Yes, but they didn’t have this one thing I really needed, and I kinda forgot a couple other things, so they told me they’d call when they got that thing they didn’t have, so I’m going to pick it up!” He was… incredibly jumpy today. It was rather endearing. “You wanna come? We can go get pizza.”

“What thing are you missing, exactly?”

“A wig! I’m gonna be Kim Possible.”

He was so excited… Remy started feeling bad for being this confused.

“…what?”

“Kim Possible! Don’t you— you know what, it’s okay if you don’t know. It only came out in June anyway.” The half-smile turned into a full, bright one. He was adorable. “So, you wanna come with me?”

…well, he had nothing better to do for now.

“Sure, sunshine. But I need to get my wallet and phone first.”

“Yay! Anyway, so Kim Possible is this show, it’s on the Disney Channel but trust me it’s not that bad… ”

* * *

 

Emile was growing on Remy more and more each day. And… he may have started getting interested in Kim Possible after going out for pizza with him. The never ending energy was growing on him in a way. It was impossible not to like his enthusiasm, and…

Yeah, he was starting to grow on Remy.

“So, now, lucky that I’m vegetarian, right?” Emile said as he took his third slice of pizza. “So at least I have some sort of excuse, at least according to my aunt, but we just keep having to explain to them what kosher means and—”

“Are we still talking about your sister, Emile?”

“What?”

“We were talking about your sister and then you started talking about… well…”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry!”

“Please stop apologizing. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Right. Umm… so… Doctor Gilliam suggested I might want to get evaluated at the psych clinic sometime soon,” Emile mumbled, straightening his glasses. Slightly more closed off. Making Remy feel real guilty. “I don't… I don’t know why, but he said I might want to.”

“And you’re just gonna take him up on that?”

“Yeah? No? I don’t know. I’m only sixteen, honestly, I’m gonna have to talk to my parents about this.”

_Sixteen?!_

“Yeah, I thought I told you!”

…shit. He spoke out loud. Shit.

“I’ll be seventeen in December. But… never mind. Do you think I should listen to him? About the evaluation?”

“I have, like… no idea.”

The way back to Cambridge was full of even more chatter about everything and nothing, and Remy couldn’t put in a word. Not that it mattered anyway. Emile was interesting.

Remy gave his input whenever he could, but he would much rather listen to Emile talk. He had an adorable voice

* * *

 

“You didn’t call me last week, kiddo. Found yourself a guy?”

“Dad, please…”

“Do you think you’re going to take her up on that offer?”

“Dad, daddy, papa, David, any normal person when answering the phone would ask how are you doing. Not if you hooked up with a guy or if you’re going to babysit your sisters who you’ve never met just because your bitch of a woman who birthed you asked you to.”

“When have we ever done anything normal, Remy?”

“Well… true. But no, I’m not going to take her up on that offer. I don’t really care, to be honest.”

“They’re your sisters.”

“And so is India but you don’t see me trying to—”

“You haven’t told me much about her, kid.”

“Well… she’s not doing okay lately. Did you see the news? About that girl in California?”

“Edward Araujo?”

“Gwen.”

“Right. Sorry. It’s just… the news.”

“It’s okay. But… India is losing it over this case. And honestly… I get her. It’s terrifying to see someone of your kin just…”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But really, did you hook up with anyone?”

“Nah. Dad, I’m eighteen. I’m not you.”

“Hey, your mom got pregnant with you because of this one time when we were seniors when she had an empty house this one week in December and threw away my condoms when I tried to—”

“Dad, that’s disgusting and please don’t bring this up ever again.”

“Got it. But anyway?”

“…there’s a guy in my major, his name is Emile—”

“You gonna ask him out?”

“Dad, no! He’s sixteen.”

“And he’s a psychology major?!”

“I asked myself the same question. But yes. He is.”

“Well, I mean… he’s within the appropriate age range for you. I guess.”

“…what is it about I don’t want a relationship at this stage of my life didn’t you hear?”

“You’re eighteen, Remy! One day you’re gonna find someone and—”

“That’s the thing. I’m eighteen. I have many more years ahead of me.”

“Okay. Whatever you say. Any other boys I should know about? Girls, too, if you’re into them now?”

“Just… this one guy. His name is Chris, he’s a bit older… I don’t know. Should I really be talking to you about this? You’re my dad!”

“Am I not allowed to be interested in my son’s love life anymore?”

“You weren’t this interested in it when I was in high school.”

A long sigh. “Remy…”

“I know you’re worried, Dad. Believe me, I do. But I’m doing just fine! Rashida has dance parties every Wednesday for some reason so we bond over that, Lucy is basically just my map to going everywhere, we haven’t hung out that much, Sammy is being a cutie all the time and Katherine is obsessed with everything. She really likes Emile’s bunny for some reason and keeps talking about how her niece and nephew would absolutely love it. Her niece is two years old! I just…”

“Sounds to me like you’re making friends.”

“Well… yesterday I went with Emile to Party City. I don’t know what I’m doing for Halloween this year, but…”

“What was that you just said?”

“If all goes right, I’ll be Jack Skellington. But I don’t have a backup.”

“What would you need a backup for? You’ll do great!”

“So, how’s your girlfriend?”

“Eh, I don’t know. Elaine isn't… that… you know.”

“I’m sure she’s absolutely lovely.”

“Yeah, so was I. Can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“Can’t wait either.”

“…are you sure you don’t want to babysit Linda’s girls?”

“Dad!”

“Just asking!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you mind if we talked about the Jungian persona today, Rebecca Harris?"
> 
> "Sure, why not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of trouble with this one, but what’s new, and I’m actually really happy with how it came out. Especially considering that my upcoming plans are not that pleasant. But what’s new with this story, really.
> 
> (Also, hey Mom, I’m sorry… I just thought, you got B99 in KHS. I can put Criminal Minds in Sleep. So now that’s a thing. So sorry.)
> 
> The game of Murder comes from a post on tumblr, and it is important to the plot later on. Trust me on this, I have a lot of plans.
> 
> So for now, enjoy! And without further ado,  
> Allons-y!

"Do you mind if we talked about the Jungian persona today, Rebecca Harris?"

"Sure, why not."

Doctor Gilliam was so happy Remy asked to talk to him that Thursday, and when he showed up at the office, a venti iced tea in hand and sunglasses on his head, he was so ecstatic he accidentally caused a vase to drop and shatter all over the floor ("It's from Ikea," he laughed when Remy started apologizing. "I can always get another one. Don't worry about it!"). There was something about this guy that Remy couldn't pinpoint, but… he was a special case, that was for sure.

The rambling reminded him a bit of Emile.

"We'll get to that subject later in lectures, I swear. I tried talking about it with my son once… yeah, probably not a thing you should know or care about. Please excuse my rambling, I can't help it. Combined type ADHD, you know?"

"I… don't know, actually—"

"Never mind. Anyway… so there is this concept in the Jungian school of analytical psychology called the anima and the animus. I don't know how much of what I told you about the shadow and persona you remember, but it is very much like a shadow. It's called a collective unconscious." Gilliam was looking… everywhere but at Remy as he was speaking. It was unnerving. "The anima is the feminine side of the male psyche, and the animus is the masculine side of the female psyche."

So… he was onto him.

"Now I'm sure you're asking yourself, why does this weirdo faggot want to talk to me about such a ridiculous subject, and I'll tell you!" He banged his fist on the table, knocking off his bottle of water. Said bottle of water spilled all over the place the second it hit the floor, which resulted in two minutes of Gilliam trying to find tissues to clean up the puddle.

"I'm telling you this because… well, I actually don't remember why I wanted to tell you this. I think it was because—"

"If it's because you assume I'm a fucking tranny, even without, like, having taught me for more than two months, you can fucking drop it. I know I am, you don't have to tell me!"

Remy was so incredibly close to upping and leaving - how _dare_ that guy assume _anything_ , and even be such a huge fucking _dick_ about it?! - when the supposed asshole started speaking again.

"...oh. Well, that's not the outcome I planned for… hmm."

"What, you didn't expect your student to be so fucking mentally ill that she fucking thinks she's—"

"I said none of this, now sit down and let me finish. See? I can be intimidating too if I want to be." Okay… oops. "Is there any reason you can't change your sex in administration?" ...what? "Yeah, that didn't come out right… well, is there any way for you to change your sex in administration is the best way for me to phrase it… umm… look. I can not address you correctly in class. I'm not a fan of outing anyone. It's been done to me before, so I definitely get it. So unless you tell me it's okay, or choose to come out yourself, I cannot address you with your correct name and pronouns. Speaking of which… may I ask for them?"

Well, this was a first.

"It's… Remy. And male pronouns."

"No prob, Bob. Alright, so… Remy Harris, excuse me for forgetting the point of this discussion, but trust me there was a point."

It took the guy another… ten minutes, more or less, to wrap up the meeting, and Remy was just… so ready to go.

He was out of tea anyway.

* * *

 

"I just outed myself to my professor."

India looked up from her book to glare - for the fifth time this week - at Remy, being even more dramatic than usual. At that specific moment, he'd thrown himself into the chair next to her with all the drama of a fainting Victorian lady. The chair in question made a horrible screeching noise as Remy fell into it, and the condensation from his iced tea (how could he drink that at this weather?) created a pool of water next to her notebook.

The lovely silence of the library would have to wait.

"Don't you mean, you came out to your professor?" She whispered, setting her pen down.

"I know what I said."

"...do you want us to go somewhere and talk about it?"

"Yes please."

"You are going to kill me one day, sweetheart." She picked up her stuff and shoved them in her bag, waiting on Remy to stop being dramatic ( _never_ ) and get his ass up. "I'm trying to graduate here."

The trees at Harvard Yard were turning more and more flame-like, and the weather was cooling rather quickly. Remy started feeling more at home - nothing here was too different to how New York was around this time, and the people helped - so walking around the yard felt a bit like walking at Central Park.

But with less squirrels and street artists and more irritated college students. Same difference, honestly.

"...you were reading a social theory book."

"Yeah, I know. There's a lot that goes into crime statistics, you know?" India stole Remy's coffee. "I also have a David Rossi book in here."

"A… what?"

"Deviance: The Secret Desires of Sadistic Serial Killers. By David Rossi."

"That tells me absolutely nothing, honey."

"It's exactly what it sounds like." When she returned Remy's coffee to him, a considerable amount was gone. (Rude much?) "Rossi is a retired FBI agent and he wrote some books. They're plenty interesting, if you're into that kind of stuff."

"Okay, I guess…"

"Look… what professor was it that you outed yourself to?"

"I don't know if you know him, sweetie—"

"Try me."

"...Doctor Hayden Gilliam."

And then she laughed. If Remy didn't know her that well he would've decked her.

"What?"

"You're worried because you outed yourself to the designated gay professor of Harvard. That's hilarious." And, after calming down, "he's not actually gay… it's a long story."

"So why would he say that?"

"I don't know. Why would I know stuff about my professor's personal life? That's just rude."

"Okay, but still!" India looked at Remy like he was crazy. He tried to finish his coffee, with no luck, sadly. "I outed myself to him. By accident."

"Tell your big sis what happened, come on."

"Big sis?" India pulled her shoulders. "Never mind. Just… he asked me to talk about this subject we're supposed to get to eventually, and I may or may not have screamed at him that he only wants to talk about it because I'm a…"

"You're a… what?"

"You know… tranny."

"You just sounded like my aunt Carol Anne. Fortunately she don't live in Raleigh, sadly most of my family do live there, but unfortunately she's the least politically correct member of my family."

Remy thought he knew a lot about India at this point. It's been only a month and a half, but she just… liked sharing. He knew that her birthday was in February, she graduated valedictorian ("not that hard to do where I'm from," she told him one day over pasta; "all you have to do is to actually care about school instead of sports"), she was currently socially transitioning and working towards actually starting on hormones in a year or so, she was naturally ginger…

"Yeah, I never did tell you, huh." She stole his coffee again. "Look, you said you're from fucking Manhattan. Y'all got the best there, you got… shit like Amanda Lepore and the fucking House of LaBeija and all those people. I'm not saying you got it easy, but you have it easier. I got fucking Freddie Mercury as the only figure to explain myself to my parents. And he was a man. And I realize I might be exaggerating but when you live in a tiny place like Sparta, North Carolina all your life, we've got something like fifteen hundred people there, it's not that fucking easy."

"Look, if you wanna vent—"

"I know. I'm sorry I'm dropping this shit on you. I have… a complicated past with my family. Umm… I used to take acting classes in my freshman year so I could feminize my voice. I want nothing to do with them, and I take it out when I can. I'm sorry this time it was on you."

And after ten minutes of silence,

"Doctor Gilliam is the last person you need to be worried about. He's not going to hate you and, to be fair, he's probably happier that you did it than you are. Trust me, luck's prolly with you that you outed yourself to him. He's a great guy."

Then it started raining.

* * *

 

"You're complaining about nothing," Rashida announced the minute she stepped inside the suite, soaking wet and incredibly happy. "It's just rain!"

"I hate thunderstorms," Katherine whispered.

"It's not a thunderstorm, it's just a little bit of rain!"

"It's two weeks before Halloween."

As if on cue, a loud crash came from Lucy and Rashida's joined room, followed by an even louder squeal. Lucy got into the Halloween spirit way too early, covering every available surface with mannequin heads and covering a corner of her and Rashida's room (as well as half of Remy's) in a pile of clothes.

It would be dangerous if Remy ever introduced her to Emile.

"So how's your boyfriend?" The Brit stared right at Remy. The running makeup made the whole situation far less intimidating than she probably imagined it to be.

"What boyfriend, sweetie?"

"Small, blonde, wears glasses, you're hanging out quite a lot—"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"He's the bunny guy," Katherine noted. "Not Remy's boyfriend."

"Do those contradict somehow, Katherine Joyce?"

"No."

"We have less than two weeks until the Titanic Masquerade Pier Pressure party and none of you are coming without a costume!" Lucy screamed, running into the room. "I have everything thought out!"

"Didn't you say this was a twenty-one and over only event?" Rashida asked.

"Yeah, well, I have connections, I don't really care."

"Maybe you should care, though…?"

"Look, it's either this or playing Murder with the rest of those idiots, and I am pseudo-killing exactly zero people with a plastic knife this Halloween." Lucy was… way too excited for this. It was kind of weird. "Okay, so, I'm going to dress up as Rose from Titanic, and—"

"Yeah, nah, I'm going to something some friends of a friend of mine are planning."

"...you are such a killjoy, Remy. Jeez! Anyway, so…"

She kept ranting, and Remy found himself spacing out. India invited him to a party. She said there will be more upperclassmen, but some freshmen do end up getting invited every year, and he can invite some guests if he wants to, but he'd have to let her know first. She also said there will be alcohol and possibly drugs, so he should stick to her and everything will be fine. Well… should be fine. He was going to invite Emile, knowing his suitemates had other plans, and everything was going to be fine.

Yeah. Nothing to worry about. He had his Jack Skellington costume ready, Emile had his own coming along, and everything was going to be just fine.

Hopefully...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was nowhere to be seen.
> 
> Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to ‘I’m bad at describing stuff’, part 1. This chapter was planned out way in advance, before I wrote the prologue even, and yet it gave me a lot of trouble because I had no idea how to wrap it up. So I hope that, for what it’s worth, this is a good one.
> 
> A quick note to any of you who are underage or have never been in such a situation (aka a massive fucking party) before - DO NOT do anything that happens in this chapter. Please, drink responsibly, or don’t drink at all if you don’t want to. I made my mistakes so that you won’t have to. Do not do anything that happens in this chapter, watch your drinks, you know the drill. I can’t stress this enough.
> 
> Also in this chapter - mentions of blood, in the form of periods. (I'm sorry... it had to happen...)
> 
> And now, without further ado,  
> Allons-y!

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

* * *

 

_22:38, Thursday, October 31st, 2002_

"I really would've rather gone trick or treating."

"I know, boo, but you look great and my friend is gonna love you. I promise."

There were several wrong things about tonight where it came to Emile, and Remy knew all of them. One, he was sensitive to extreme temperature changes, as he told him over hot chocolate just the other day. But as things were, his costume exposed his midriff and he was snuggling up to Remy before they even left the building. Two, too many people made him incredibly uncomfortable. Strangers only intensified that feeling. And three… he couldn't bring his bunny with him to help with problems one and two.

This was building up to be a disaster.

"Well, isn't this party just so fun," India stated the moment she found Remy. "I'm surprised nobody is a Playboy bunny this year. Well… here's to hoping things will get more interesting later."

"It's totally fine, sweetie—"

"She said it's boring, can we go now?"

"Yeah, you two are better off coming back in about an hour, but you're already here. It'll be a waste of time. You're Emile, right?"

"Yeah, hello!"

"Nice to finally meet you. I'm India." Her smile was as bright as the lights reflecting off her Wonder Woman costume. "So how was Murder week? Did anyone strip?"

"No, not at Weld. What about you?"

"I'm not allowed to strip for immunity anymore, not after what happened two years ago, but… we had a couple of people walking around in towels."

Chris was there, piling red solo cups into pyramids. India and Emile kept talking about Murder and strategies for later years, and Chris was there.

He was… so beautiful. His skin reminded him of the sand on a beach. Warm and inviting beckoning him in. Caramel never looked so good on anyone else. The black hair a stark contrast. Dangerous but looked soft. Like if you touched it it would feel like cotton candy. What he wouldn't give to bury his hands into it—

Yeah... was there any way for someone to get drunk without actually drinking...?

"You're staring for far too long without actually doing anything," Remy heard someone whisper in his ear - Emile? - "go talk to him!"

"Are you trying to play fairy godparent with me?"

"No, but you're worrying me. And it's always best to talk to someone you like. How would they know you like them if you don't tell them?" Emile looked incredibly uncomfortable, even more so than before. "It's too cold…"

"Sorry, angel, don't got a sweatshirt for you." Emile huffed. "Why aren't you with India?"

"She's bringing me Fanta. Did I tell you that my sister is coming over from Evanston next—"

Definitely Emile.

"Yes, you told me. Five times already."

"Oh. Oops. But… really. He would never know you like him unless you tell him, and now is as good a time to tell him as any. And if it fails, I'm here and you can always come back here and we'll go back to your suite and order pizza!"

"I am so not into discussing Fahrenheit 451 with those assholes over there," India declared as she joined them. "What… are we waiting for?"

"Remy wants to talk to his crush but he's not doing anything about it."

"Stop saying that…"

Remy went anyway.

* * *

 

"And that's why I think that…"

Remy spaced in and out of the conversation with Chris. It was just… boring. He was talking about Blade Runner for twenty-five minutes out of the forty-five they've been talking, it was almost ridiculous. But he stayed, because… maybe he could… change the topic? Maybe? There was a certain number of times one could say radical or awesome before it turns into a chore, after all.

If only he'd shut up about his fucking crush on Harrison Ford…

"Have you ever seen Pulp Fiction?" Chris choked on his soda. "What?"

"You saw Pulp Fiction? I'd never think someone like you would—"

"Someone like me? And that's what, baby?"

"Just… you seem like the type of person who watches Beverly Hills 90210 or Gilmore Girls."

"And what stops me from liking both 90210 and Pulp Fiction?"

The conversation was incredibly boring, and Remy couldn't help it. He didn't even like 90210. Chris was… well, he was boring, and that wasn't part of the plan at all.

But… he didn't want to fuck this up at all. So… he'd put up with the boring. Okay. He can do it.

And he zoned out on him again…

"...me for a second." And then Chris was gone. What did Remy just get himself into… it wasn't what he imagined it would be like.

Huh. Maybe that's why you should never meet your heroes. Or… something like that.

And then someone jumped on his back.

"Did you tell him yet?" Emile didn't seem quite alright. "India let me out of her sight ‘cause I wanted to ask you, and—"

"Did you drink, sweetheart?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Emile didn't look him in the eyes. Nothing new, really. But Remy was still worried. "Well…"

"Emile, you're sixteen."

"Remy, you're eighteen. Stating obvious facts can be a two-player game, you know!" He sighed and hugged Remy again, only… not quite. "You wanna dance with me? Please?"

His big blue eyes were open so wide and he pouted. He actually pouted.

Remy wanted to kiss him.

No, wait,  _what?!_

"Cutie, we can't dance right now. You look sick."

"I'm totally not sick! It's prolly just the makeup!"

"...no, you definitely look—"

"Sorry about that." Oh, great. Chris was back. "Hey, I'm Chris."

"I'm Emile, it's very nice to meet you, is this Fanta?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good, thanks."

Remy was convinced he was going to regret that night. His crush was one of the most boring people he knew (he might not be, but at least right now he was, and they did talk for almost an hour and that definitely means something), he couldn't find India anywhere, and Emile—

"That Fanta tastes funny… is that vodka?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"What did you put in that cup?" Remy whispered angrily at the upperclassman.

"Vodka. I swear it was only vodka."

* * *

 

_00:17, Friday, November 1st_

No, it wasn't only vodka. But Remy couldn't care at this point.

Yeah… that sounds awful. Of course he cared, but… yeah, he had a bit to drink. And he was making out with Chris in the corner, so it wasn't exactly his biggest concern at the moment.

"Your makeup's coming off," Chris laughed between kisses.

There was a slight issue with this situation. Chris kept trying to… touch. Which was usually a problem, thanks to his body being… well, his body, but today was even worse. For today was day two of shark week. And, like, it wasn't enough that he was trying to get to Remy's not yet existing dick, which even under sober circumstances Remy probably wouldn't have let him, but it was happening during the worst possible time to do that.

There was no better time in history for Remy to feel the dysphoria kicking in, and kicking in hard. Yeah. Look at how much fun he was having.

"Okay, lover boy, time to fuck out of here," someone screamed in his ear a couple minutes later. And forcefully pulled him away from Chris.

_India_.

"What do you want?"

"I get that you don't have much experience with booze, Skellington, but your friend is missing and I'm not going to look for him alone. And I can see you're enjoying yourself very much."

"Fine… oh. Oh shit."

"Yeah, oh shit. Now you gotta get fixing to get going, anything we gotta do before we leave?"

"...stop at the bathroom."

It was just changing a pad. He could manage going to the girls' room just for that. He could manage that—

"Make it quick, though. Any second we don't look for him is a second gone to waste."

"Alright. Just don't scream at me."

"I ain't screaming!"

It was just changing a pad. It couldn't take longer than two minutes. Just go in there, change it, get out, and—

Yeah… this was going to be tough.

* * *

 

It was around one a.m. when Remy was ready to crash, and Emile was still nowhere to be seen.

Remy had just the slightest idea of what happened.

India only called it a night because she had early classes that day, and Remy tried to reach Emile's cell for a while before giving up and falling asleep around three.

It didn't feel right. He could be dead… Remy should've done more…

And then his phone started ringing. At around nine, his phone started ringing.

"Yes, hello, what—"

"Remy… everything hurts…" Emile was crying.  _Shit_. No, no, that was—

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I don't know… but everything hurts. And…"

"Are you still on campus, sweetie?"

"I… I hope so."

"Can you tell me where you are, what's around you? I'm coming to get you."

Remy started looking for a jacket, still half asleep, as Emile kept talking. He described something that sounded a lot like Harvard Law to Remy. (Well, actually, more like what he imagined Harvard Law looked like after watching Legally Blonde fifteen times).

"Do you mind if I sing?" Emile was calming down. Great. He was still—

"No, not at all. But… one song, alright? I still need you to tell me where you are."

"Alright."

As Remy ran outside, still putting his shoes on, phone glued to his shoulder and ear, he heard a thing he never thought was possible —

"Whatever happened to Saturday night? When you dressed up sharp and you felt alright?"

"...are you crying while singing Hot Patootie?"

"It was the first song I could think of!"

Remy found Emile sitting on a bench ( _like when Elle met Emmett in Legally Blonde_ , his little voice told him), his costume still intact but incredibly messed up, the wig thrown to the side. He looked… sick.

There was no real way to describe what he looked like other than sick. And Remy felt guilty.

"Hey, hot patootie, where's your glasses?" Emile shivered, pulling his shoulders.

"I left them in my room... I had… I had lenses on last night… and then I lost them. I can't see much…"

"Do you remember anything?" Remy sat down next to Emile, holding him tight. He was freezing. It was…

Remy felt like he failed. It was the worst feeling. He failed his best friend.

"No. I know I drank… I know this… this guy, he was really nice, he asked me if I wanted to eat something… I don't remember more than that…"

"Sweetie… it'll be alright. I promise." He couldn't exactly promise. Not at this state, anyway. "Let's take you to the clinic, okay?"

Remy had to help Emile walk. Support him on the way, sometimes carry him bridal style, all for about two minutes of walking. But… he was clearly not okay. Remy wasn't going to just… not help him, this was his best friend on campus...

It was only when they made it to the incredibly familiar (at least to Remy) clinical wing that Remy realized he didn't even wear a bra. And only because Emile told him "if any of the people in the clinic call you miss, because your boobs are out, I'm gonna punch them."

He was not going to let Emile punch anyone, but that was not his main concern at the moment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emile was sent to the hospital the moment they explained the situation to the doctor on campus and was released from the ER a couple of days later. It was the very day Remy made the worst decision of his life. He missed some classes, Remy was glad to fill him up on those, and his mother had to fly in from Minnesota to look after him for the time he was there.
> 
> (Nathalie Picani was an incredibly nice woman, Remy decided within five seconds of meeting her. And he was yet to be proven wrong.)
> 
> But on the day Emile was released, Remy finally did it. He did the one thing he said he'd never do.
> 
> On that one fateful night in early November, Remy Harris agreed to babysit for Linda and Stephen Hollander. The victim? Remy. And also Leah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this chapter while writing chapter five and I was expecting to have fun with it, and I did, and it has a new OC in it. One that I’ve been talking about through this entire fic basically. One I’m terribly in love with and would start a fire for. So… I’m sorry if it seems like you have to keep up with all those OCs, but it really isn’t. It’s mostly just India, and this gal in this here chapter.
> 
> I apologize in advance. (Also Remy’s dad’s phone number starts with 212, which if anyone didn’t know is the Manhattan area code. Just pointing that out.)
> 
> So... time to have fun with my favorite ever OC in this fic! Yay.
> 
> And now, without further ado,  
> Allons-y! (I need to go to sleep it's like three am why am I up this late...)

Emile was sent to the hospital the moment they explained the situation to the doctor on campus and was released from the ER a couple of days later. It was the very day Remy made the worst decision of his life. He missed some classes, Remy was glad to fill him up on those, and his mother had to fly in from Minnesota to look after him for the time he was there.

(Nathalie Picani was an incredibly nice woman, Remy decided within five seconds of meeting her. And he was yet to be proven wrong.)

But on the day Emile was released, Remy finally did it. He did the one thing he said he'd never do.

On that one fateful night in early November, Remy Harris agreed to babysit for Linda and Stephen Hollander. The victim? Remy. And also Leah.

"Would you please tell me who Leah is?" India asked him after a group meeting.

"Linda's daughter." Remy couldn't stop shaking. "She's six. Almost seven. And I don't want to babysit her."

"You're making a much bigger deal out of this than it really is and it's driving you crazy. It's a six year old. What's the worst that could possibly happen?"

But then, a couple hours later, Linda dropped the demon child off at Weld Hall - Remy wasn't a fan of her knowing where he stayed, thank you very much - and left. Well, then.

"You don't look like a Rebecca," the demon child muttered when she first saw Remy. And he was thankful. Both for the child having the sense to not imagine him as a Rebecca, and for the fact that it was nearing winter and he could start wearing baggier clothes, meaning he didn't have to bind.

(His back and boobs were going to thank him for it for the next six months, give or take.)

"Because it's not my name. My name is Remy, and Linda is just a bitch."

"A bitch is like my auntie when she doesn't listen to Mom, right…?"

_What?!_

"Auntie Steph wants to take me to see Lion King in New York on Christmas and Mom thinks that she shouldn't because I don't deserve to so she called her a bitch. Is that what you mean?" Less than a second later, "I dreamed last night that I was in a bouncy castle, and there was a clown, and I really don't like clowns, I think they're scary…"

She avoided eye contact. Much like two other figures in Remy's life. He didn't want to make wrong assumptions, but the thought was there.

"I saw a movie about real-real lions and you know that Simba is Nala's brother? Boy lions are really lazy, they don't hunt for themselves, the girl lions do it for them. Did you know that hyenas don't like boys? Like, at all? They have a really weird—"

"Look, kid, I'm sure all that is very interesting, but why do you know all this shit about hyenas?"

"My name is Leah Mae Hollander and I'm not a kid, I'm seven!"

"You'll be seven in two weeks."

"Girl hyenas have pen—"

"Yeah, I'm not gonna let you finish that! Let's do something other than talking."

He failed to notice her expression change when he said that.

* * *

 

Remy didn't have the heart to tell Leah that he already knew who George Michael is and that Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go was the song his dad used to wake him up all the time, which is why he doesn't like it, when a tiny gray bunny followed Katherine into the suite.

She swore she didn't steal him. And for once, he actually believed her.

"But it's a song about oh oh oh Remy that's a bunny I wanna cuddle the bunny can I please please cuddle the bunny?" He couldn't even answer before she dashed from the couch and grabbed the bunny a little too harshly. "Fluffy bunbun! You're so cute, little bunny!"

"Leah, someone needs this bunny right now. Would you mind putting him down so we could take him back?"

The look she gave him could kill a man.

"I found him. He's mine now."

"No, his name is Mycroft and he belongs to a very good friend of mine who is sick and needs him back." She tried using puppy eyes. Well… "You can come with me. But I'm taking the bunny back."

"Okay!"

Leah bounced all the way down the hall, and insisted on knocking on the door herself. It took several tries before Emile opened the door, still looking incredibly pale.

_"I'm actually surprised you're doing this well," the nurse said while changing Emile's IV. "The lab suspected GHB, and—"_

_"Let's celebrate the small miracles instead of constantly pointing out facts that my son would rather forget."_

"I can't hang out right now," Emile sighed. He sounded incredibly tired, almost… as if he's been crying. "I need to study for—"

"You, my good bitch, need to study for nothing. Get back in bed and I'll make you more tea."

"I'm not actually sick…"

"No, but it will help calm you down. And your mom would hate me if I didn't."

"Hello, I'm Leah!" Oh yeah. The demon child was here too. Emile looked down at her, forcing a smile. "I'm seven."

"You're not seven."

"Not yet but almost."

"Remy, please, she's clearly seven!" Leah's smile grew at that. "I'm Emile, I'm sixteen. Thank you so much for returning my bunny, Leah!"

"He's my bunny now."

For a second, Remy thought Emile was trying to imitate him. He never saw his adorable blond friend be evil... "How about he'll be ours, together?"

"...fine."

Leah bolted into the suite after the bunny, who was placed on the ground and started hopping towards his food. She was an interesting kid. A demon child, but still interesting.

Remy didn't know if he liked her or not.

"Thanks for coming to check on me, but I'm okay. You don't have to do anything. I'll be fine." Emile kissed Remy's cheek as he entered after Leah… and then didn't immediately leave. There was no way he was going to. "Remy, please!"

"No! You were—"

"I know what I was. I kept being reminded of what I was when I was in the hospital. Please stop reminding me."

"I was in the hospital two months ago," Leah started rambling again and broke whatever tension was between the boys. "Mom took Rachel to the park and I wanted to go too, because the park has the slides and the swings and there's a red slide that has rollers on it and it's funner because of the rollers and I really like it but every time I go there someone is already on it and nobody lets me slide on it so I really wanted to, so I took my rollerblades and I was on my way and then I tripped and it was very close to my home and it all hurt so our neighbor Matilda called Dad and when we went to the hospital he told me that I'm stupid and shouldn't do that ever again and when I tried to tell him that it was because I wanted to slide he called me stupid again and said the fuck word."

"And what happened then?" Emile asked softly, finally going to sit down and allowing Remy to make him tea. Well, sorta.

"I broke my arm. And it was very cool! I had a cast and everything, and nobody signed it, not even Mom or Dad, so I signed it for myself. And I did whatever I wanted!"

"What did you sign then?"

"It was a story about a group of princesses who went to fight a knight who was trying to kill their dragon friend."

Something didn't seem right to Remy. Other than absolutely not understanding a single word she said (that was a bit of an exaggeration, yes), something about the story didn't… make sense. And earlier when he cut her off, she looked incredibly offended.

Yeah… nothing matched up.

"Wait… Leah, let's work it through, okay?" She hummed in agreement. Remy was looking for mugs in the suite kitchenette. "You broke your arm rollerblading?"

"Yeah, I said that—"

"And Stephen called you stupid for breaking your arm rollerblading?"

"Yeah! I told you that!"

"And what did Linda say?"

"She said that I'm a stupid child for thinking I can rollerblade. But I can! I learned how to last year, and I'm practicing, and the park isn't that far, so I can!"

"Are you trying to analyze your sister?" Emile looked overly worried. "The tea bags are in that wooden box on the toaster oven."

"I'm not trying to analyze anything, but… something is weird." There were about ten different types of tea in there. Oh dear. Chamomile…? Emile likes chamomile, right?

"I saw Monsters, Inc. last week," Leah said out of the blue. "I saw it on my birthday and I stayed until the very-very end, and Mike Wazowski actually did a musical called put that thing back where it came from or so help me! And there's a song that's like, there's a child there's a child there's a human child, running ‘round the restaurant, this is really wild, what in heaven's name will become of us, we who are living in Monstropolis?"

"You saw that last week?" Emile sounded happy. "Remy, please no chamomile. It makes my stomach feel worse. Peppermint, please?"

"Alright."

"You saw Monsters, Inc.?"

"Yeah! I like Mike. He's fun."

Linda said that Leah was disruptive, annoying, a monster of a child. So far she… certainly talked a lot, but she wasn't disruptive, or annoying (well, maybe a little), and she didn't seem stupid at all. On their way over here she kept pointing at the suite numbers (not that many, but apparently she loved it) and asking Remy to read them to her, after which she'd declare whether or not they were multiples of three. And she couldn't stop talking about animals, some of which Remy didn't even know existed - she kept talking about betta fish for some reason, whatever those fish were, and how people killed their fish by putting more than one in the fish tank or putting cold water instead of warm (he was starting to think she just really liked betta fish). And those things meant she was… the opposite of stupid. No?

He was being redundant in his own head, it wasn't nice.

"Leah, I don't think you're stupid." Leah made a squeaky noise in response. "Linda and Stephen make no sense."

"But I can't do anything right…"

"Says who?"

"Remy Harris, you came here to make yourself useful, now where's my tea?" Emile laughed.

Once the tea was made, they sat down and watched Monsters, Inc. as per Leah's request.

Things were going to be okay today.

* * *

 

"How was babysitting the little rascal?"

"Dad… don't call her that."

"Changed your mind?"

"I don't know… I don't remember Linda berating me as much as she does Leah, and it sucks. I almost want to call social services and I only met that girl today!"

"Remy, kiddo, calm down. You'll get to see her again for thanksgiving and get a better picture of what's going on—"

"But I don't want to see them for thanksgiving and I'm worried for Leah! She's learning to play the piano, she can calculate stuff really quickly for a six year old, she remembers things with scary accuracy, it's almost inhuman… and she was called names by Linda and her husband for breaking her arm rollerblading. That's not—"

"How's Emile? Last time I called you said he was in the hospital."

"Yeah… he had a blood test. They found traces of GHB. He doesn't want to talk about it though."

"I know you probably don't want to hear this—"

"Don't tell me if I don't want to know about this…"

"When you were three, your mom used to go out a lot. She loved clubbing."

"She went out a lot my whole childhood, Dad. It's not news. She never really grew up since the eighties."

"She was seventeen when she had you, you can be a little bit—"

"Which means she's thirty-five, in a good enough position to raise children, and she chooses to call her daughter names for not fulfilling her expectations. Huh, kind of like how she treats me, isn't it?"

"...you'll be the death of me, child."

"I know. I'm already working on it. You can't see me but I'm winking at you."

"Remy, please don't make this harder than it is. Do you think I want her to want contact with you?"

"No, I don't. I don't want her to either. But it's not like I have any choice. You're making me do this!"

"You're being a brat."

"Thank you so much, I totally needed to hear that."

Remy hung up. Something was… not quite right. He just had to—

_Incoming Call: 212-729-5555_

"I don't want to talk to you right now."

"You said you didn't want to babysit Linda's kids, and now you're protecting her child like your life depends on it. Do you want to listen to what I have to say or not?"

"...sure. Whatever."

"When you were six, I had to leave you with your grandparents one night because your mom didn't come home from one of her parties. She almost died that night."

"And that has to do with what exactly?"

"That has to do with you being super worried about Emile. He's alive, isn't he? And he's doing alright. All you can do now is be there to support him."

"Well… yeah, you're right. I hate it when you're right."

"Now, about Leah. I know you don't trust your mom, I know you can't stand her, but it's no reason to call social services."

"Okay, I call her Linda to distance myself from her. She's not my mom. And the way Leah says she treats her is horrendous, and I would say it's abusive but I don't know the severity of it yet. So will you please just…"

"I think you need to take a day off, think about it, and we'll talk tomorrow."

"...fine. Good night, Dad. I'm going to go to sleep."

"Good. Good night, son. Sleep tight."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But I want you to come!"
> 
> "Leah, sweetie, I can't come. I'm going to Emile's. But I'll see you sooner than you think, okay?"
> 
> "Okay… but it's not going to be fun. Rachel is two and she's boring and I don't like Mom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of fanfic author appreciation day, I’ve decided to post it here today! (On tumblr it’s scheduled for tomorrow, but... I finished writing this chapter yesterday and I can’t wait!! I’m going to post it on tumblr a bit later.)
> 
> So as I said, I finished writing this one yesterday, and I was going to schedule it on tumblr, and just not worry about anything… and then there was a power shortage and now, as I was writing this, on Tuesday (I wrote this note originally for tumblr, just saying), I had to rely on my phone to provide me with wifi. God bless…
> 
> I just thought that after all the angst of the last two chapters you’d appreciate a bit of sweetness, and where this chapter started almost as harshly as the last two, it’s just. So sweet. And fluffy. And I feel so happy that I managed to do such a thing. Well… that and prove to the world that I’m a massive nerd. (If you really want to know, some of Emile’s rants in this chapters are based on actual answers I gave in my finals. And those of you who know me well enough know that I studied theatre in high school…)
> 
> A special thanks and shoutout go to my awesome awesome friend who basically threw all the facts at me and is the inspiration behind Emile's background in this chapter, they're the best person and I love them so very much. And one special one to Eva, aside for the usual gratitude for her whole being and for Keep Him Safe, this time for helping me with the translation of something here... (I can only say hell is other people in three languages, people.)
> 
> So now, without further ado...  
> Allons-y!

"But I want you to come!"

"Leah, sweetie, I can't come. I'm going to Emile's. But I'll see you sooner than you think, okay?"

"Okay… but it's not going to be fun. Rachel is two and she's boring and I don't like Mom."

Leah called every day after school. Remy could've been in a class, or at a group meeting, or taking a shower, and she would call every day after school. It was somewhat adorable.

But now was no time to deal with adorable.

_"Emile, my darling, my precious, my sweet sweet love," Remy declared at the beginning of their morning sols 20 class last Monday, "can I come over for thanksgiving?"_

_"Didn't you say you have to see your mom?" Emile whispered over his cup of tea, struggling to get comfortable. The weather got extremely cold lately, and at thirty-six degrees at eight in the morning, not even the four layers and giant thermos full of tea could keep Emile warm enough to survive morning classes._

_India literally asked him if he's not supposed to be used to such temperatures, which earned her a lecture on hypersensitivity and illness caused by stress._

_"But it's Linda! Emile, babe, sweetheart, darling, dollface—"_

_"Don't call me bubbeleh and I'll consider it."_

_"It'll be worth it. I promise—"_

_"I need to ask my mom, and my sister is coming to pick me up because I'm kinda scared of flights, and Minnesota is kind of far away."_

_"Alright. I don't mind."_

_He really hoped Nathalie would agree._

"I don't want to be here alone," Leah half-whined.

"I know, babe, but it won't be long. Trust me."

He let her talk about school for a good while more, at least until he could hear Linda screaming at her to stop holding the line. It was horrifying. He didn't remember her doing it much.

Then again, she was barely home anyway.

The call disconnected rather quickly, right on time for his appointment at the psych clinic. The grad student who claimed Remy as his personal project was supervised today by the head of the department, as part of his research, which meant Remy had to be on his best behavior.

It also meant he'd get misgendered. Which was a thing said student, whose thesis was on gender dysphoria and gender identity (same subject as his big project for AP psychology back at Bronx Science, really), made sure to not do.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

 

"You went to the Bronx High School of Science, right?"

"Yeah? Gurl, why you asking me? I told you that already."

"A 4.0 GPA, went to a gifted program in Columbia—"

"Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?"

"Dr. Freeman wanted to hear those for himself," Remy heard the guy - _Michael, his name is Michael, stop calling him "the guy"_ \- mutter to himself as he typed away on his laptop.

"What makes you think that you're a boy, Miss Harris?" The doctor asked, pushing his glasses up. What a prick…

"Well, considering how I was quite literally diagnosed with gender identity disorder by a licensed psychiatrist, I don't think I am. I know I am."

"And yet, you've enrolled into Harvard under the name Rebecca. Is there any explanation as to why?" Freeman looked directly at Remy. "You're an intelligent young person, and enrolling under your preferred—"

"I didn't know I could do it, and now I have, like, no idea how to change it in administration."

"Biologically speaking, Mr. Harris, the concept of sex is very non-binary." The older man's gravelly voice seemed to chill even Michael, still taking notes. Suddenly he didn't seem so evil.

"First of all," Dr. Freeman said, "in sexual species, you can have female be XX and males just be X. For example, in insects. Female birds are ZW and males are ZZ, for reptiles it's temperature differences that female or male make. In some flatworms it's a penis fencing competition. Some fish like clownfish and parrotfish can have females become males because there are no males left, and the New Mexico whiptail lizards are a female-only species who reproduce asexually. Some species, like cuttlefish, have males act like females in order to get close to the females. And fungi have thousands of sexes. And that's not even getting close to humanity."

The doctor cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. "You can be male because you were born female but have a 5 alpha-reductase deficiency, and so you develop a penis in puberty. You can be female because you were born with XY chromosomes but you're insensitive to androgens, or because your Y is missing the SRY gene, both of which would result in developing a female figure. You can be male because you were born with two XX chromosomes but one of them does have the SRY gene. You can be male by having two X chromosomes and one Y, or a female by having only one X chromosome. And you can be male or female by being born in the wrong body for your brain.

"As I said, there is no such thing as two biological sexes only. So I'll ask you this again. Why would you enroll as a female named Rebecca if you know that you are neither?"

Remy had no idea how to respond. The professor looked at him, _straight at him_ , and Michael kept typing away…

"...I told you, I had no idea I could do that."

"I'll write you a note to give to Vivian in administration. She'll take care of everything, you just need to provide her with a name."

"It's Remy—"

"I hope you understand that this isn't legal, it's only official. I don't have a doctorate in psychology just to explain what's the difference between the two to my students."

Remy nodded nervously, swallowing air. "Yes sir."

* * *

 

"Your suite is so much more comfortable than mine," Emile wiggled on the couch, petting his bunny, as Remy was making him a cup of tea. "You can… clearly see Leah was here."

"The marks on the wall? Yeah… she brought her scooter with her and wouldn't stop running into the wall with it."

Emile giggled - _how much cuter could this boy get?_ \- and scratched Mycroft's head a bit. "I asked my mom and, yeah, my grandparents and my uncle and his family are coming over, so it wouldn't be that much of an issue if you came over, but…"

"But?"

"We're having thanksgiving at my grandparents' on my dad's side. So it might be a bit of an issue. I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It's okay, we didn't plan for this or whatever. I'll watch over Leah and you take care around your family, okay?"

"Okay. Have fun with her. She'll really need it."

"I know and I'm willing to suffer for that."

The kettle started whistling. Remy filled the mug with the boiling water and took it to Emile.

Just yesterday Emile screamed "I waited five minutes and the weather didn't change, get your shit together, Boston" at the sky when it started to snow. It wasn't even that much, Remy had seen bigger storms and he was sure that Emile did too - he was from Minnesota, after all - but it was still somewhat funny. After asking, Emile explained that in Minnesota, and basically all around the Midwest, "if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes".

Remy didn't think he meant it literally. He probably didn't.

"How's India doing?"

"Midterms."

"Cool."

Emile was muttering something to himself in a language Remy didn't understand. He let Mycroft go and the bunny just sat there, on the couch, looking happy enough.

"Hey Remy, what's the Hebrew word for thanksgiving?"

"...I'm a Christian from New Jersey. Why are you asking me?"

"I don't… I don't know. My parents are expecting me to call my cousins before thanksgiving and they don't know English or Dutch yet… not that I know that much Dutch either, but… wait, you're from New Jersey? I thought you're from Manhattan."

"Only since I was five."

"Oh. Cool."

Remy moves the bunny and sat down next to Emile, who leaned against his side and put his head on his shoulder. His hair was incredibly soft, Remy was never quite able to stop running his fingers through it, and the whole situation just… made Remy feel like everything was going to be okay. Just… don't move from this spot, where the his adorable, tiny friend was cuddling up to him and muttering to himself in a different language, and everything will be alright.

His hair smelled like jasmine and seawater. And Remy was torn between admitting to himself just how much he liked it, and wondering if Chris would be jealous.

"You went on a date, right?" Emile raised his head, his hair tickling Remy. "I just…"

"Yeah, I did." And it was a bit better than Halloween. Chris was… way more interesting when not in parties, apparently. For one, he did not talk about his crush on Harrison Ford, and he did talk quite a bit but at least it was about law school and not Indiana Jones. It was… it was great.

"Huh… that's nice." And then, "a friend once asked me on a date. I had to say no."

"Why? Was something so wrong that—"

"No… I like that guy, but… he's the same guy who always paid me to bake weed brownies for him and his friends, and that's not very appropriate, right?"

He had to do a double take. "Weed brownies?!"

"Yeah… my school was the druggie school, you know?"

"No… I didn't know."

"Yeah… it's not like my parents couldn't afford to send me where my sister went, but they were worried about how the stress would affect me so I went to a public school. And… at least I only ever sneaked vodka in water bottles and baked weed brownies, I never, like… held someone's hair out of their face in the bathroom or had to keep someone from killing themselves, which now that I say it out loud just sounds so bad and I totally would've done it if I had to but—"

"Emile, babe, you're making me worry. Like, really."

"Sorry… I never ate weed brownies, though. I'm sensitive to weed."

This… this was the thing that baffled Remy about Emile. This… tiny, pure, angelic thing, with the soft hair that always smelled like jasmine and seawater and the bright, sparkling eyes. His soft little friend whose sunny disposition never faltered, not even in the darkest of times, and whose dedication and determination shone through everything he did.

Emile Picani, the sweetest human Remy ever met, was used to sneaking vodka into school and baking weed brownies.

Fuck.

"How do you even find out that you're sensitive to weed if you don't, like, smoke weed or whatever?"

"You have to decarboxylate the weed to activate it, which basically means heating it up, and the smell gives me migraines, so… that's how I found out."

Yeah, because that's so much better.

"But I mean, good riddance. Can we watch Mulan? I want to do something…"

"Aren't you reading that Sartre thing?"

"No Exit? I already finished it." Emile sipped on his tea. "I don't… get it? I can see why Estelle and Garcin will never achieve an epiphany, but Ines came in already aware that she's amoral… can't she just… leave Hell?"

Gilliam gave the class an optional assignment, to read and analyze No Exit by Jean-Paul Sartre. It wasn't even going to go into their final grade, but he did say that it might be very important to the next semester when they study Freud ("and how he almost ruined the entire field of psychology, more or less"), so Remy chose to leave it for Christmas break. Or maybe not even read it.

"It's something like sixty pages, it's shorter than Hedda Gabler or The Cherry Orchard… it's an easy—"

"Question one, what the fuck is Hedda Gabler, and question two, what cherry orchard?"

Emile's eyes lit up and he almost jumped in his seat, spilling some of his tea on his lap and causing Mycroft to hop a bit farther. "Did you ever do theatre?"

And off on a rant he went, explaining every little nuance and allegory in both the plays ("so like, back in Ibsen's time, realistic theatre was meant to portray real life and keep the three unities, so Hedda shooting herself off-stage is meant to shock the audience as well as preserve the unity of place, which is pretty much…", "you know, the reason it's called Hedda Gabler despite Hedda being married to Jorgen Tesman is to show that Hedda sees herself as the daughter of General Gabler first and the wife of Jorgen Tesman second", "the cherry orchard is never really in scene ever, so it's kind of like a fantasy, or trying to hold onto a thing that isn't there anymore, like the Russian aristocrat's status, so when middle-class Lopakhin buys the orchard and orders to start cutting it before the others even left is like an even bigger sign that the aristocracy has fallen and there is no place left for it in the modern Russian society, in the face of the upcoming bourgeoisie and their budding materialism").

It was worse than Leah talking about betta fish. Well… no it wasn't, but he couldn't bring himself to shut Emile up… he was too cute to be told to shut up.

"So I just… I don't get it. Ines should be able to pick herself up and walk out the door, so why isn't she doing it?"

Emile was out of tea by the time Remy caught him looking at him with questioning eyes and realized he'd completely zoned out.

"Maybe… societal pressure?"

"Maybe… but it still makes no sense. She's in one room with two incredibly selfish people… can I boil some more water?" Remy nodded and Emile practically jumped out of his lap. The cold immediately hit Remy with a wave of disappointment. He wanted to hold Emile just a bit longer...

"Then again," Emile kept ranting, "this is the play that coined the term ‘Hell is other people'. L'enfer, c'est les autres. De hel zijn de anderen. Hagehenom hu hazulat."

"How many languages was that…?"

"Four." Remy choked. "I don't speak Dutch or Hebrew very well, I told you that. I only know the basics because of my family. But I do know this saying in five languages. I think... My oma and opa really like saying it. But I don't remember how to say it in German."

This boy was impossible.

"No, no, I do remember it. Die Hölle, das sind die anderen."

And Remy absolutely loved him. (A bushel and a peck.)

"And I only know how to say it in German because my neighbors are German. So like… I really only speak two languages."

"That's still way more than me, babe."

"Well, enough about me! I want to hear more about your date! How awesome was it?"

Oh, it was great. Chris didn't talk only about himself, he was actually interested in listening to Remy talk about his interests, they had a lovely dinner and went to see a slightly better than okay movie (he was not going to tell Emile that The Ring gave him nightmares for three days after watching it though), and he kissed him when they got back to Harvard. Nothing big, everything was nice, and they were going on a date again in early December. Nothing could be better.

Except the voice in his head, calling him a liar.

"That sounds very nice," Emile muttered as he plopped back down next to Remy and put his cup of tea on the table. "I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun. The Two Towers and Chicago are supposed to come out in December. And I promised my sister I'll go to see both of them with her."

A comfortable silence settled in. Remy tried to focus on anything but how nice it was to cuddle Emile, especially today that all his suitemates had other obligations. It was almost time to leave for thanksgiving - those who left for thanksgiving anyway - and… it meant he wouldn't see Emile for a week.

He didn't think he was a fan of the idea.

"Can we please watch Mulan? I haven't seen it in forever!"

Remy had to oblige.

* * *

 

"Hello?" The tiny voice that came through the phone made Remy so happy, and he had no idea why. "Who's that?"

"Leah, aren't you supposed to be doing your homework?"

"Remy oh oh oh Remy I have so many things to tell you so yesterday I went to the park and I found a shiny rock and—"

"Leah, I called to tell you and Linda that I'm coming over for thanksgiving." The high-pitched scream almost ruptured his eardrum. "But you have to be on your best behavior, okay? I know it's a very hard thing to do, babe, but it's for Linda."

"Okay! I can behave very good!"

"I know you can, sweets. I just need you to promise me that you will."

"I promise that I will! Pinky promise! When you get here it'll be a pinky promise, okay?"

All that was left was to hope that thanksgiving won't be such a disaster.

If it was, though, Remy would start considering smuggling Leah with him to Cambridge.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, November 27th, 2002
> 
> Remy finally understood the point of existentialism and, more specifically, of the saying "Hell is other people".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not wait to post this. I know it’s only Wednesday but I couldn’t wait and I had to. I’m sorry… I’m sure the next chapter will bring us back to the regular schedule.
> 
> This chapter is really weird, at least in my opinion (but it might just be that I read it again and again a million times over), but I’m really happy with it and… also not really. Some people in this chapter need to… I don’t want to say anything. It would only make things worse if I say anything. I'm just glad I have my best friend, and Eva, and my three awesome friends/proofreaders/brainstorming partners/little elves, to help me with this fic. I can't thank them enough.
> 
> This one is... full of transphobia. And a mild case of mention and or implication of child abuse. Please, please, be careful with this one. You can skip it completely if you need to. I'm going to repeat the ending of this chapter anyway in the next chapter, so you don't have to worry if this sort of thing triggers you.
> 
> And now, without further ado,  
> Allons-y!

_Wednesday, November 27th, 2002_

Remy finally understood the point of existentialism and, more specifically, of the saying "Hell is other people".

He couldn't even take comfort in knowing how close India was. She didn't leave Boston for the holiday, and she wouldn't have anyway. Her family in North Carolina were horrible people and she told him that she hadn't seen any of them since she came to Harvard.

That meant that, for the next few days, he was stuck in Social Circle, Georgia. All alone. With no escape plan.

"Sarah, look, Remy's here!"

...and Leah.

She came down the road on her rollerblades, looking entirely too proud of herself, and their cousin Sarah on her trail. Sarah wasn't particularly bad, but Remy wasn't entirely comfortable around—

"A little bird told me you were going to be away this year."

"Gurl, you don't even want to know what happened."

"No I don't. I'm just glad you're here, Becca."

_Becca_. A cursed name. Yeah, maybe that's going a bit overboard, but… Remy wasn't called Becca since… well, Christmas of last year. But it's been a long time!

"I can rollerblade, right Remy?" Leah was holding onto his leg, almost dragging him down, and started taking her rollerblades off. "You saw me do it!"

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want Mom to see…"

"But you'll freeze!"

"But she won't be mad at me!"

"Becca, would you like to hear the holiday forecast?" Sarah tapped Remy on the shoulder as she said that. He didn't really, but… "Sunny. Way too sunny. With high chance of showers and a possible thunderstorm."

(Translated, it meant there will be fights. A lot of fights. And Remy was ready to deal with them, but… it didn't mean he wanted to hear it.)

"Wow, thanks for all the help, Sarah."

"No need to be rude, I'm just trying to prepare you. Everyone is coming. And some of us aren't as accepting of your ‘identity' as others."

That was incredibly true. Sadly. It took Linda no time at all to let everyone know that her daughter believes that she's a boy, and it took his grandmother no time to tell him that when she was younger, she had a very good friend who was born a boy, but lived as her true feminine self, and that she misses that friend so much because "there was no kinder or sweeter woman you'd ever meet, too bad we had to lose her to that wretched AIDS. We didn't have no cocktails or whatever back then, not like today. She died something like three years after you were born. You would've loved Celia."

It was going to be an insufferable holiday.

"Sarah, you're barely two years older than me. You don't—"

"I'm not mothering you. I'm just pointing out the facts."

Leah let go of Remy's leg, and instead grabbed onto his arm, the rollerblades in one hand. She was barefoot, she was cold, and he just wanted to hold her tight so she wouldn't freeze too much.

He was falling hard and fast for the sister he didn't want to meet a couple weeks ago, and he was struggling to understand what exactly happened.

"Sarah has a boyfriend now," Leah said happily as she led Remy (and his bag) to the house. "He's not very nice." She threw her rollerblades into a small shed near the door and quickly closed it.

"I'll bet."

"It's why she's being a bitch. I think. I don't know."

"It's how she's always been. Don't feel bad."

Leah decided to give him a house tour, and explained that nobody was there yet because everyone will come tomorrow and Stephen had a thing to do in Atlanta and Rachel had a play date. And Linda's house was… well, a house.

Remy was so used to the small and outrageously expensive apartment on West 106th, with the bad lighting and the closet-sized bedrooms, that the house seemed huge to him. The living room alone was - mismatched furniture aside - incredibly impressive. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in so much natural light that reflected off the shiny hardwood floors, the cream-colored walls and the needlessly large flat-screen TV, that Remy doubted they even needed the _huge fucking chandelier_ (okay, maybe he was exaggerating a bit) that hung in the middle of the room. The walls were covered in crayon doodles and bright purple marks where the girls' heights were measured, and a few dark scratches. Obvious evidence that a certain scooter kept running into them.

Two black suede couches faced the brick fireplace (a _fucking fireplace_? Utterly pointless, much like a lot of things in this room), with dark blue and gray throwing pillows placed strategically on them. It looked incredibly comfortable. Between the couches and the fireplace was a small glass coffee table, "adorned" with misplaced toys and children's art supplies. A beautiful, blue-green glass vase full of white daffodils was right in the middle of the table. Leah proudly told him that she picked them herself.

Wooden bookcases covered the wall next to the entrance, and two light gray, plush armchairs, with the same dark blue and gray pillows, faced them. Remy was very familiar with those armchairs. They used to belong to his grandparents. He used to torture those chairs with Sarah when they were younger, draw on them with markers and put stickers all over the armrests. How his grandmother managed to remove the stickers was beyond him, but he knew for a fact that she put them through very intensive cleaning after every visit.

Two years ago they disappeared from their house in Red Bank, New Jersey. And nobody could explain to him why.

In the corner of the room, next to the bookcases, sat a sleek Steinway that Remy knew very well. It belonged to his grandfather. He wasn't even aware that it, too, made its way from New Jersey to Georgia.

(Nobody told Remy anything anymore, as it turned out. At least he could take comfort in knowing that Roger's piano was being put to good use.)

And that was just the living room. Remy didn't even want to think about the hallway.

"We moved here from Atlanta when I started going to school and my grandma and grandpa wanted me to go to where Dad went to school," Leah started rambling. "And I miss Atlanta. There's a lot more to do there, there's a lot more fun stuff to—"

"I know." The offended look on her face went away when Remy put his hand in her hair, to calm her down. "I live two blocks away from Broadway, I just need to take the subway and I'll be at Times Square, but I can't. I don't have the money for it and I don't want to take money from my dad."

"Isn't that annoying?"

"Leah, you're seven. Stop complaining about that kind of stuff," Sarah chided as she pushed past them, a glass of water in her hand, and went to sit down. "Just wait until you're in college."

"You mean, the place where everything is close by and rather affordable thanks to student discounts and the option of working on campus?"

"You're only a senior in high school, what do you know—"

"I go to Harvard, Sarah. It's been a couple months already."

"Oh… yeah. I'm sure you're doing great."

Yeah. Maybe this holiday he'll just stick to Leah.

* * *

 

"If there is a thing you should know about your mother," Edith Brigham told her grandchild in late 1992, "it's that she is too headstrong for her own good. It doesn't matter how much you try to change her mind, she'll never listen."

This was the reason Remy kept talking to his grandmother after the divorce. Why he kept visiting Edith and Roger after Linda left.

"Where's grandma and Roger?"

"They won't be coming this holiday, Rebecca. They're in Thailand."

Remy was absolutely not ready for this thanksgiving.

Stephen started a conversation with him about college while Linda was finishing things up in the kitchen that Wednesday. He asked him about his boyfriend, Remy did his best to avoid those particular questions ("is Ian playing any sports?" "She told me she was a cheerleader in high school, she wasn't allowed to do color guard"; Stephen choked on his beer when Remy said that), and things just seemed…

Overall, things seemed strangely calm.

Remy missed Edith and Roger.

"Who's she?" Linda asked from the kitchen.

"Never heard of her."

"Rebecca, please be serious."

"Remember when you met my best friend and she told you her name is Ian?" Linda made a choking sound. "Remember grandma's friend Celia?"

"That— you never even met her. You were too young. You don't even remember her. You are not the same as grandma's friend."

"I'm sure my best friend would love to hear that."

"So he's… he…"

"You can call her a she, you know."

"Grandma doesn't have a friend called Celia," Leah piped in from the corner, where she was sitting at the piano, trying to motivate herself to play it. Little Rachel was pressing all the keys, irritating Leah quite a bit.

"She died of a really bad disease before you were born," Linda said sharply. Something in her changed when talking to Leah.

"She was very nice," Remy added, trying to be softer than Linda. "Grandma says that she was a painter, and she spent a lot of time reading books, and that there was nobody sweeter than her. She died of AIDS."

"What's that?"

"Don't you—"

"Acquired immune deficiency syndrome." Leah hummed to herself as Remy said that. He could feel Linda glare at him. "You get it from contaminated blood or unsafe sex, and your immune system just doesn't work. I don't know a lot about it, so you should probably read about it—"

"Rebecca, she's seven years old!"

"She's a seven year old who knows that female hyenas have penises, Linda! She's old enough to know about AIDS."

"...you sound just like your grandmother."

"Thanks, I try to."

Leah just hummed again in understanding and left the piano in order to go painting. Rachel's key-pressing was getting too annoying for her. She said her hearing can't take it anymore.

Remy believed her.

"You can't just explain STDs to my child, Rebecca," Stephen hissed at him through gritted teeth, suddenly looking rather threatening.

"One of my professors said that if you can't explain it to a child, you don't truly understand it yourself."

"That's no excuse to—"

"Mom I have a headache can you tell Rachel to go away?"

"Deal with it. Rachel, sweetie, come here."

"Deal with it?" Linda just… shrugged. "Leah, come here, love. And bring my bag with you."

So she did. Remy took an ibuprofen pill out of the bag and gave it to her. And Linda...

"You're drugging up my kid?"

"She told you she has a headache. I'm having cramps right now, so I have painkillers on me. Shocker? To you, probably. You're the one who taught me that the cramps are just another sign that my body so terribly wants to have children, and—"

"Spit that out, Leah. You don't need anything."

And with that, Remy gave up on trying to talk to Linda. (Leah did not spit out the pill.)

* * *

 

_Sunday, December 1st, 2002_

The rest of the holiday was just as awful. Leah got overwhelmed by everything, Remy kept fighting with his aunts, and the alcohol didn't help in the least. Everyone felt Edith and Roger's absence and it only made things that much worse.

He should've stayed in Boston.

When he called India after getting off the plane, she told him to take comfort in the fact that Christmas is only three weeks away. And, yeah, she was right. But it didn't make things any better…

For now, he decided, he should focus on other things. Midterms were starting very soon. Next Tuesday was Emile's birthday. His dad started working on a new production—

There was a knock on the door.

"I heard you had a horrible holiday," an adorable, heavily-accented, quiet voice said once Remy opened the door. He could hear the smile in it. "Nothing cuddles and cookies can't solve, right?"

Thin, pale hands pulled Remy in for a hug, and finally. Remy came home.

* * *

 

"Umm… Emile, babe, you're crushing my lungs."

"Oh, oops. Sorry."

"Want to watch Nightmare Before Christmas and do absolutely nothing else?"

"Sounds lovely. Let's do it."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday, December 1st, 2002
> 
> This tiny, blond, blue-eyed, sweet and precious angel, who fell asleep on Remy’s shoulder… he was the best friend Remy could have wished for. 
> 
> But the good things couldn’t really last forever. Maybe just a couple more hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as, the chapter where India finally loses her shit and no longer has any fucks left to give.
> 
> This one was… a project. I forgot the general plot I wanted to go with for this, and I had to make one up all over again, and then someone’s birthday happened (in the fic, just pointing it out, and maybe also my own fourth birthday in terms of fic timeline), and as I’m typing this it’s three am and I really need to go to sleep but I just so want to post this and someone please help. I need all the help I can get.
> 
> Other than the usual transphobia, this chapter includes (get ready, this is a long one): mentions of drug abuse, specific mental disorders, rape, homophobia, conversion therapy, implied suicide and minor character death, gun use and profanities. As in, more than the usual. If I forgot something, let me know.  
> Thankfully, all of those are in one particular section. Starting in "Friday, December 6th" and ending in "Monday, December 9th". So you can just... skip this whole section altogether if you are triggered by any of these, okay? Trust me.
> 
> And now, without further ado (and also so that I could finally go to sleep),  
> Allons-y!

_Sunday, December 1st, 2002_

This tiny, blond, blue-eyed, sweet and precious angel, who fell asleep on Remy's shoulder… he was the best friend Remy could have wished for. 

But the good things couldn't really last forever. Maybe just a couple more hours.

"…'m gonna take adderall," Emile muttered in Remy's ear, not very asleep anymore.

"What would you need adderall for, sweetie?"

"I dunno… Juliana does…"

Ah, Yes. Juliana Picani. The Satanist sister who goes to Northwestern and drives a jeep. Of  _course_  she's the reason Emile wants to take adderall…

"Emile, babe, look at me." Emile rubbed his face against Remy's shoulder before looking up and blindly reaching for his glasses. "Repeat after me. Your sister goes to university in Chicago—"

"Evanston."

"Same general area. Your sister goes to university in Chicago, practices Satanism and owns a Jeep. You do not want to take adderall. This is not for you."

"But she said it's okay… and I took some."

"…Emile, please don't. We don't need you to develop an addiction, okay, sweetie?"

"Wait… you think Julie is an addict?" Remy nodded violently, and Emile… Emile looked at him as if he committed a crime. "You think my sister is an addict. Why in the—"

"I'm sure she isn't, but—"

"Julie is narcoleptic! This is why she takes adderall. Okay? This is why."

"Okay, okay… no need to get so pissed. I just…"

"Assumed? Yeah. Everyone does."

"Okay… sorry."

The small gray bunny, who Remy had been petting up until this point, hopped over to Emile and started rubbing his head against his head. He's been doing that quite a lot lately.

It probably wasn't a good sign. But Remy didn't know much about bunnies.

"Narcolepsy isn't like…" Emile looked down at the bunny. "You don't just… it's not fun. She once collapsed in the middle of a restaurant when we went out with my grandparents and fell asleep for fifteen minutes and pretty much just face-planted into the table and when she woke up she had a giant bruise on her forehead and people around us thought it was hilarious. But it's not. And it happened about three more times after that and it wasn't pretty. I've actually seen my uncle have sleep attacks at much worse places, like… I think it was at a water park, he just fell asleep on a water slide and it wasn't good. Like… at all. So… adderall is a stimulant that helps with that. It was actually originally synthesized for things like narcolepsy and memory deficit. We've just… recognized it early. That's why."

He started to cry. This conversation was… not going the way Remy thought it would. Emile needed a hug, but…

"She's actually not supposed to be driving. She had a cataplexy attack in the middle of her first driving test and just failed on the spot and she wasn't allowed to try again until two years ago. Umm… so… yeah. Sorry… I know I overreacted. You didn't mean to…"

"Stop apologizing." Teary blue eyes turned up to Remy. "You're apologizing for everything and that's bad. That's just… horrible. You're doing nothing wrong, I made a wrong assumption, why are you apologizing for it?"

"I don't know! I just have to!"

"Babe, stop. Stop apologizing. If it's not your fault, don't fucking apologize. If anything I should be the one apologizing again. You don't need to say sorry or take all the blame."

"I'm sorry…"

"Yeah, okay… we'll… we'll work on it. I'll remind you."

* * *

 

_Friday, December 6th, 2002_

"Everybody sit down, today we have a very important topic to discuss."

India dominated the room the moment she came in, everyone could feel it. Chris rushed to take his hand off Remy's shoulders as soon as she got in (not that Remy minded the hand, it felt nice, comforting) and everyone fell silent.

Remy was absolutely not ready for today.

"A few months ago I brought up the subject of coming out," India said as soon as everyone sat down. "And today we're going to talk about that."

Remy doesn't remember the whole conversation from there, or at least he didn't really pay attention, until India asked if anyone wanted to share… anything. About their coming out, or their plans to.

He was not afraid to repeat the story everyone probably heard at this point. He told it a million times, to a million people. How he always knew he was a boy. He couldn't quite name it, he didn't know how, but he always knew that. His grandmother's stories of her friend Celia certainly helped. How it didn't hit him until Ellen came out, like many others in the group, that he might be gay - he never liked girls that way, but… he still felt like it. He repeated the exact things Linda told him, over and over - there's something wrong with you, you can't possibly be that - and how the death of Matthew Shepard and his father starting to self-educate finally drove her over the edge.

He was getting quite numb to this story. Mainly because he told it so many times already. And he felt like India understood the numbness.

"I gave up on trying to make her understand," he closed his speech. "I went over to hers on thanksgiving and I just gave up on trying to make her get it. She was never really a mother anyway."

Then, a long moment of silence. Chris was crying. It was… it was a weird thing to be part of.

"I know I'm probably… one of the more… out there people in the group, but… there's a reason behind everything." It was so hard to see him like this, and yet… and yet. "When I had my first boyfriend… I was fifteen, I tried to repress being gay so badly. It's part of… of how I was brought up, my dad being from a small town in Mexico and we live in Texas, both those things combined don't really make such a great coming-of-age experience…"

India seemed like she heard this story a million times before. Remy wanted to keep a poker face like hers. But between that, and his boyfriend getting this upset…

"Machismo was a big thing at home, as you can guess, and… it's illegal to be gay in Texas. So I tried… being what my parents expected me to be. I always knew it didn't fit me, I was always jealous of my sisters who got off easy, at least in my eyes. My older sister Jennifer was always in the kitchen and my younger sisters all had their roles around the house, and I was so bored. I was never allowed to do… anything." Remy could hear India calling him a spoiled little whiny boy in her head, and he understood why she might think so. And he could not tell Chris about it. "But I tried to be it. And when I met my first boyfriend I already repressed the gay so far that I honestly have no idea how he got it out of me. And then, after months of being secretive about it, or at least trying to be, his father found out and kicked him out. So he moved in to our place. My parents knew him as a good friend of mine, and… nothing really happened from there for a while. And then I gathered up enough courage to come out."

The tears started flowing much heavier then. "I thought they'd understand. I wanted them to… we were both kicked out in a second. My dad set the kitchen timer and told us to pack our stuff and leave, and if we don't manage to do that until the end of the timer, he'd shoot both of us.

"We had to… live on the streets for a long time. Before we found a shelter. And… and now I'm here. I'm sorry…"

A long moment of silence fell onto the room, before India cleared her throat.

"You know what?" She called out, her voice even louder than before. "I'm going to tell you my coming out story. When I was fifteen, right after I started asking questions, getting interested in my identity, my parents sent me to therapy."

She sounded rather angry as she said that… it was horrible.

"I'll spare you the details, but it was the worst year of my life. So many of my friends died there, some of them weren't even my age. The youngest one…" Her voice started cracking. "I almost lost my adoptive little brother. His name is Jackson and he is the sweetest little boy I've ever met, bless his heart, but I could never tell his parents that. When they came to get him after his suicide attempt, there was nothing in them I could reach to, to tell them just how incredible their son is. How big a mistake they were making. And I survived a goddamn year of that bull malarkey for him. And for all the family I lost for this utter, excuse my French, piece of bullshit homophobic nonsense masquerading as a cause."

She never shed a tear. And yet, she kept going. Like the strong queen bee that she was, that Remy saw in her. "I came back traumatized, but I never stopped questioning my identity. And one Sunday in July, half a year after I got out, I went to church to confess that I may have been hurt beyond belief, but I still strongly believe that I am a woman. And my cousin heard me, and ran off to tell everyone. Three weeks later that cousin, who was twenty-seven to my sixteen and a half, raped me under the pretense that no one will ever believe a boy who claims that he was raped by a woman."

The collective gasp was loud enough to be heard on the other sound of campus, Remy was sure.

"I got out of there as fast as I could, which honestly wasn't fast enough in my opinion. And then the great towel incident of 2000 happened, and I had to live through a second outing. But I still live, as my truest self. For the family I lost, and the family I almost lost, and for myself. First and foremost.

"Jackson is a high school senior now. Well… he's supposed to be. I managed to contact him after I left. Nowadays he's a psychiatric inpatient at Johns Hopkins, and I'm the only one who ever visits him anymore. He's the main reason I took over these meetings at all, even though I should be focusing on other things. I don't want any of you to end up in such a situation. If there's anything you need, and don't want to go to the psych clinic about, you can tell me. I'll go to them for you, and I'll try to help as much as I can. We're all found family. We should be here for each other."

India wrapped up the meeting rather quickly after that and asked some people to stay behind and help her clean up. Remy volunteered to help her, as usual. There was never a wrong time to have a dance party set to Britney Spears…

"You sure you don't want to ditch, Rem?" Chris asked before he left.

"I'm very sure, hon. I'll see you tomorrow!"

Remy got a quick kiss before Chris left. After their date yesterday, things were… rather okay. And he had a boyfriend now…

"Harris, focus on cleaning!"

Oh. Yeah.

* * *

 

_Monday, December 9th, 2002_

"I… I'm still shocked." Remy grabbed an empanada from India's plate, to try to make her eat. She chose a good place to go out to today. "You were—"

"That was Esther, and yes. I was. Can we not bring it up? And eat your tostada. Don't play with my food."

India was messed up since Friday. Remy made sure to spend a lot of time with her after the whole confession thing, and on Saturday Emile and his bunny joined the party. (They watched The Breakfast Club. Emile insisted that Bender is bisexual, and spent the whole movie trying to convince India to believe him.)

He was… he was worried, that was all. Especially now with finals going on…

"Look, Remy, I'm sure you're wondering why in the hecking heck do I absolutely hate Chris' coming out story, as I may have so blatantly hinted during the meeting." Oh yeah, it was very obvious. With all the eye rolling and mouthing along to the story… she actually laughed when she said that. So… something must've been wrong there, huh? "Well, I'll tell ya. That guy has no respect for others. And even that is an overstatement, okay? He actually… he knew about Esther before I told y'all, and he said the exact same thing everyone in my town said. He told me that a man can't be raped by a woman, and that even so, since I'm bisexual and she's a woman, is it really rape to begin with?"

That… made much more sense.

"For the record, he said those things to me right after the great towel incident of 2000, I wasn't really out to anyone and he never met me before that. He didn't even start attending those meetings until after the holidays of that same year, so you can only guess how he found out about me."

"I have no idea—"

"Some guy took pictures of my privates and put them all over school. This is why we call it the great towel incident. I won Murder in my sophomore year by going around in a towel and then killing the last person standing, and said last person standing then took pictures of my genitals and posted them all over the place. It was a mess and we don't want to bring it up right now, aight peach?" With a click of the tongue, she urged Remy to get to eating and continued.

"Anywho, right after he joined us, Chris started being crude as fuck. And nobody could stand him. Things changed, of course, but he was just so… I can't even begin to describe what he was like. And I told the people back then that I was molested by a woman, I didn't say much more, and he spit out that gem. The one I've heard many times before. And yeah, it may be a bit of a grudge, but throughout the three years I've known him, he's been just like that. Disrespectful, crude, generally an asshole. So you ask yourself one question, why don't I like his story?"

"Are you saying I can't…"

"Oh, no. Date whoever you want, so long as you're making smart decisions, and he's the farthest of an awful boyfriend you could have. Really."

A long and loud sip from her soda, and India kept talking.

"I'm sorry for this speech, I'm sure it's boring—"

"No, you're okay."

"Well… he actually used his story once to prove superiority over me." Remy almost spit his water. "And he hadn't stopped since. As if the number of tears and the level of popular viability are anything to go by on whose story is sadder. But… yeah, to each their own. I guess."

"Well… sweetie, I actually… I asked you out for dinner because I need help. Emile's birthday is tomorrow and I want to bake him a thing."

A sly smile crawled onto her face. "Well, then. I'll stop talkin'. You got my attention, peach."

* * *

 

A good couple hours later, the kitchen looked like a disaster. India insisted on baking her grandma's caramel cake, and that went spectacularly, but… knowing Emile, chocolate was probably better. He baked brownies for Katherine's birthday, and was generally just a… huge chocolate fan.

So… they baked two types of cakes. And made frosting for both. And then it was curfew so India had to leave… And now the kitchen looked a mess.

At around twelve thirty am, Emile came down to the kitchen. He hasn't been sleeping much lately, finals made things much worse than they usually were (as Remy found out), and…

He really should've gone to sleep.

"Em, babe, what's going on?" Remy leaned on the countertop he just finished cleaning, looking at the half-asleep now-seventeen year old make his way to the fridge.

"I need to—"

"You need to sleep, love. I'll help you tomorrow. Let's go to sleep, okay babe?"

"Oh… okay…"

In the morning, Emile would be presented with two cakes for breakfast. Remy would go over some exam material with him, they'll watch cartoons, and then go to their English exam together.

(They'll just stop by Starbucks for hot chocolate first.)

For now, Remy decided, they just needed some sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, December 21st, 2002
> 
> Christmas at the Harris shoebox was never that festive to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for! Well… I hope so…
> 
> Yeah, it took me a month to get this chapter on the road, but… I can’t really be blamed. Well, I can, but let’s be fair, I’m in India right now, I have almost no wifi and I’m mostly relying on data (I ran out of data while writing this and now have to wait forty minutes to get data again… oops…), I managed to get The Schmuel Song from The Last Five Years stuck in my head out of boredom, and really I planned to update much earlier but sometimes… chapters get stuck.
> 
> I’m sorry I’m updating this late… I hope the fact that this is the longest chapter yet A N D that something y’all have been waiting for is going to happen will make it up!
> 
> So, for now, enjoy.  
> Allons-y!

_Saturday, December 21st, 2002_

Christmas at the Harris shoebox was never that festive to begin with.

There was always some sort of rush hour-type boost in sales on and off-Broadway, or at least that's how David explained it to Remy when he was younger, so he would only really be home if he only had matinees or if, God forbid, Christmas (either eve or day) fell on a Monday. And Remy was always busy with school, at first with his program in Columbia and then his project at Bronx Science and now…

Well, now was no different. Christmas Eve was going to be on a Tuesday, next Tuesday to be exact, and Remy was too busy reading ahead in his psychology books.

India dropped him off in Manhattan on her way to Johns Hopkins. They got out a day early to go from Boston to Manhattan - Remy didn't have exams that day anyway - and stayed over at Remy's overnight before the second half of the ride. "They", of course, also included India's girlfriend Jenna, who was the one driving. She was a wonderful human being and Remy honestly couldn't believe he never met her before. It felt like they knew each other for ages! (David wasn't happy when two twenty-something year olds crashed on his couch that Sunday night, without warning, but Remy told him they're leaving first thing in the morning. He still wasn't very happy at that, but maybe going with it was the best option here.)

"You know who I ran into on my lunch break today?" Remy raised his head and took off his reading glasses (he was starting to need glasses for more than reading…) to look at his father, who - at eleven forty-five at night - finally got home from tonight's show. "Come on, ask."

"Who did you run into on your lunch break, dad?"

"Do you remember Michelle Tan?"

Of course Remy remembered Michelle Tan. She took chemistry and engineering and always looked down on him as if learning psychology made him less than her. Not to mention that when he showed up to graduation with short hair - his first step towards socially transitioning, really - she kept saying the nastiest things to him about how inappropriate it was.

"What about her?"

"Nothing, she just asked how you're doing." David threw himself on the couch next to Remy, taking off his shoes and opening his shirt in the process. "I said that you're doing alright and that your degree was going okay."

"Oh. Okay."

"...that's all you're going to say? Oh okay?" Remy pulled his shoulders. What else was there to say, really? "Thought you'd be a bit happier that—"

"Dad, Michelle Tan is the one who came to me after graduation and told me that short hair is undignified and that just because I think it makes me more of a boy doesn't mean that I am. Do you really think I'd be that excited about you running into her on your lunch?"

"I didn't know. I had no idea."

"It's okay."

David was working on a new show by Tony Kushner. He promised Remy that he's not going to spoil anything to anyone this time (though let's be honest, he said that about Dancing At Lughnasa in 1991, and Rent in 1996, and…). He stayed out late for the workshop, and barely had any time to care for himself. He never did whenever a new show started.

Remy could forgive him for forgetting stuff.

However, this neglect was absolutely and utterly unacceptable.

"Can you take a day off tomorrow? I mean, it's just the workshop, I doubt Eliza would mind it if you didn't come." David hummed in agreement. "So it's decided. Tell Eliza you're not coming tomorrow. We're gonna, like… do absolutely nothing tomorrow. We'll go somewhere fancy, like that diner on—"

"Since when are pancakes fancy to you, Remy?"

"Since I don't get to eat them anymore because I don't have time and I'm not using boxed mixes, thank you very much!"

"We can go to Hard Rock Cafe."

"Dad, Hard Rock isn't fancy. Sorry to disappoint. I just want to go to Times Square, to be honest…"

And then he turned on the TV and put a recorded episode of South Park. And Remy gave up. He went back to his book, to remember the teacher who made them read Oedipus Rex in English class, to get pissed at Freud who said that all men secretly want to fuck their mothers and called it the Oedipus complex without even knowing (probably) that Oedipus didn't want to fuck his mother but the moment he found that out he stabbed his own eyes out and exiled himself, accompanied by his children, which prompted the start of Oedipus at Colonus and Antigone.

Remy always felt bad for Antigone. But that was a personal issue.

* * *

 

"Remy? Remy! Hey, Remy, I'm here, and you're here, and—"

These sort of calls have been going on since about five minutes after David paid for their lunch and he and Remy started making their way to the subway back home. They started right around the… Martin Beck theatre? Yeah, around there. Remy was kind of scared to turn around and look who that is, until his dad told him to, so he did.

Emile was dragging his older sister and her dog behind him and he was getting really close.

"I didn't know you'll be here right now!" Emile's face was flushed, hidden under the hood of his fluffy mustard yellow coat. His glasses were covered in raindrops and all fogged up.

He looked absolutely adorable.

"Sweetie, what are you doing here?" At the hurt face, Remy quickly added "I'm just curious, that's all. Did you bring Mycroft too?"

"Well… no, I didn't. Mycroft stayed home. I can't bring him on holiday vacations. Our neighbors are looking after him, though! They're very nice and they're technically his grandparents! Well, kinda. I got him from a litter their bunnies had. It's a long story. And we were at the Man of La Mancha matinee just now! Julie and I have tickets to The Lion King at seven, and my parents are going to The Full Monty. It's a holiday tradition!"

Well then… hmm…

"Oh, you haven't met my dad yet!" Emile almost started jumping. "You have to—"

Someone tapped on Remy's shoulder. "I thought we're going home, not talking to cute boys on the street?" David asked jokingly.

"Hello, sir! I'm—"

"That's Emile, Dad. He's a friend. I told you about him. And his sister Juliana."

"But she's buying books so we're going to wait for her!" The tiny blond said oh so excitedly. He could never not get excited, it seemed. Remy loved that about him.

"What did you say her name was?" At David's raised eyebrow, Emile started jumping even more.

"Juliana! Yoo-li-a-na. It's Dutch, not English. She's named after our great-grandmother who died in Auschwitz. It's a really sad story, if I do say so myself—"

"Munchkin, we gotta go." The aforementioned woman who just got out of the bookstore grabbed Emile's hand and gave it a short squeeze. Her accent was even harsher than Emile's, but… Remy couldn't complain. He heard her speak before. He _met_ her before. "Remmington, nice to see you again."

"You too, Julie. And Ladybug." At the sound of her name, the dog started wagging her tail quite happily. Remy never got to see her off-duty, but he assumed that this was the closest he'll ever get to.

"Mom and Dad are waiting. You coming or what?"

As the three went away, Emile waving goodbye quite enthusiastically and lending his sister a shoulder to lean on (Remy only recently found out why he did), Remy struggled to find the words to explain to his dad what just happened.

Thankfully, he didn't ask. Instead, David said "so that's your boyfriend, huh?", took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the subway. They still had to get home today.

* * *

 

_Monday, December 23rd_

"So we're staying here until… I think the fifth," Emile rambled on the phone. Sure, it was eleven thirty already, but… free minutes were more important than proper sleep schedules. Not that either of them had any of those. "After that were going to Missouri, my dad is taking me to Glore, you know—"

"I have no idea what Glore is."

"It's a psychiatric museum. And after that we're going to California! To Disneyland, and then the murder museum."

Emile kept rambling about his plans, and he was so loud, Remy could hear his dad tell him to quiet down a couple of times. He was just so excited, and it was always so endearing…

"So what I'm trying to say is," Emile rambled away. "Would you like to hang out sometime? We could go see a musical! Like, umm… Rent! We can go see Rent! I haven't seen the new cast yet… I heard that Jai Rodriguez is awesome though!"

"I don't know… I can't really afford that—"

"Nonsense! What do you have me for if not for this sort of thing?"

"Remy, either you hang up now and go to sleep so you can deal with your grandparents tomorrow," David grunted from the couch, where he tried to sleep, "or I do it for you."

"Alright, boo, how about the twenty-seventh?"

"Sounds good to me!"

"Okay. Good night, Em."

"Good night!"

Remy didn't tell Emile that he actually saw Rent off-Broadway before. And… didn't exactly like it. Maureen, the only bisexual, was presented as promiscuous and very selfish (though that might've just been her personality, he had no idea, Jonathan Larson died before he could ask him) and Angel, the only character he ever truly identified with - a gay, genderqueer drummer who is HIV+ - is really the only main character to die, leaving the most wonderful and wholesome relationship in the show broken and sad and with a bad ending, while the horribly dysfunctional Roger and Mimi - both also HIV+ - got to have a happy ending.

And really, what type of bullshit was that? Gays have already been so villainized in the media, Remy did not need another one.

But he'd go. Just to be with his best friend. He really wanted to.

"Are you ready for the ride to Jersey?" David asked jokingly. Neither of them was ever truly ready for the six-hour (at best) long ride on the interstate to Red Bank. David's parents were, to say the least, terribly nosy and had no tact. Adding to that the fact that his cousin Gilbert (his aunt and her husband had a terrible taste in names, Remy decided rather early in life) wasn't going to come home for Christmas from his boarding school in Nova Scotia, also known as the only sensible member of the family with whom Remy could actually hold a conversation would not be home for Christmas…

This holiday was going to be a disaster.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

* * *

 

_Tuesday, December 31st, 2002; 9:54 p.m._

Christmas was horrible. But Emile made it better.

This was how Remy described the holiday on his call to India on the thirty-first.

"What I mean is… you know the feeling when your family is just so bigoted and— yeah, okay, I'm sure you know that feeling." India laughed on the other side of the phone. It made him feel… strangely better. "So, like… my family are horrible, okay. My grandparents are, like, the worst. My grandma can't stop sticking her nose in everyone's business, and like, usually it's fine, it's not that bad, but last week my cousin wasn't home so she had more criticism to give to everyone else so she chose to pick on my sexuality, and like—"

"Pick on your sexuality?"

"She literally said ‘why can't you just be who you were when you were sixteen, you may not carry the family name but you will continue the bloodline'—"

"What twisted mind would say something like _that_?"

"My grandma, sweetie. This is my grandma."

India actually laughed at that. Remy could hear confused sounds from the other side, which he assumed belonged to that Jackson kid she talked about a couple weeks ago.

"Is she also the type of person who would say that Jenna is a nursing student because she's black and a woman?"

"I wouldn't put it past her to act like Professor McKenna. But anyway. So that's my grandma, and my grandpa is… he's deaf and senile. You can imagine what that's like."

India hummed. "Sounds like a fun holiday."

"Well, after coming back Emile and I went to see Rent. I still hate that musical but it was fun to watch it with him. And my boyfriend only called once like, three days ago. And I mean, rude much?"

"I'll bet. I got to talk to my psychiatrist, and… guess what."

"I'm scared of guessing."

"I'm gonna get my first doses of blockers and estrogen real soon, if everything goes right." Remy tried to avoid the tightness in his chest. "I know, I know… you've been waiting for this too."

"Is it weird that I can't wait to get mine but I'm still scared of when you'll get yours?"

"No, absolutely not. I totally understand. We all have a fear of change, peach. Some of us more than others. But it's going to be such gradual change that you won't even think of it, okay? It's exactly how I explained it to Jackson. Even when I get top surgery, which will probably be the most dramatic change, it's not going to be such a big shock. I promise."

India had to end the call rather quick after that. Apparently some doctor needed to talk to her about some stuff, and he could hear her grit her teeth before saying her goodbyes - the doctor called her "Mr. McGinty" - so it must not have been good.

He had a… sort of date, with Emile, at Times Square later. His sister was going to this bar in Greenwich right after the ball drop, so until then, she said she'd chaperone - as if they needed one. But Nathalie had some rules and stuff so they had to have her around, or else.

Whatever that else would be.

"Dad, I'm going out!" A hum of agreement came from his dad's room. Okay then…

Remy got his bag and his phone, sent a quick text to Chris wishing him a happy new year - he probably wasn't going to see it until Remy pointed it out to him when they got back to Boston - and left.

(He probably should check on his dad, but he was going to be alright. Two and a half years sober now, and he had his cartoons. He was going to be okay.)

* * *

 

**_11:57:11 12 13 14... p.m._ **

"I'm cold!"

"You're from Minnesota, Emile."

"I don't see your point."

Emile was wrapped in his own yellow coat and Remy's black coat (well, one of his three black coats; this particular one he got on a trip to Disneyland when his dad worked on the national tour of some musical, he already forgot) and was still freezing. How in the…

"Do you want to go to Starbucks and get a hot chocolate?"

"Is Starbucks even open at this hour?"

"There's one on fifteen hundred. It's open twenty-four hours."

"...okay, fine." Remy offered his hand and Emile quickly wrapped his arm around Remy's, allowing him to lead the way.

1500 Broadway wasn't the closest to the ball, but Remy was sure that they could make it there and back.

Maybe it was a bit of wishful thinking, but he was going to be an optimist this time.

**_11:58:28 29 30 31… p.m._ **

"We never told Juliana that we're going," Emile muttered through chittering teeth. "My mom is going to be so mad—"

"Emile, babe, calm down. We're almost there."

The huge building was already in their line of sight, and Remy couldn't feel happier. He could totally use a latte right about now, and Emile obviously needed a hot chocolate and a cookie. The poor thing was seconds away from becoming a human icicle.

He didn't want to be responsible for his best friend suffering from hypothermia, after all.

"You see that huge building over there?" Remy couldn't make out if Emile was nodding under all his layers or what.

"What about it?"

"We're gonna go to Starbucks in there, okay?"

"You're an addict, you know that?"

Remy didn't listen. So he liked his Starbucks, so what.

He dragged Emile behind him.

**_11:59:38 39 40 41… p.m._ **

The line was moving awfully slow for some reason. Remy had no fucking idea why so many people were at Starbucks so close to the ball drop…

Well, he was being a bit of a hypocrite.

"Can we get something to eat too?" Emile whispered to him, standing on his toes. The black coat from Disneyland was back in Remy's possession. The building was warm enough.

"Sure, why not?"

"Thanks, sweetie!"

_Sweetie_. Holy _shit._

"Schmuel would work till half past ten at his tailor shop in Klimovich," Emile sang to himself. Remy remembered that song very well. Norbert Leo Butz had a very… interesting way of singing it.

Then again, he never heard anyone else sing it.

He would ask Emile where he heard that song later.

"Forty-one years had come and gone at his tailor shop in Klimovich—"

"Ten, nine, eight…" oh crap.

Remy grabbed Emile's shoulder, shutting him up momentarily. It took just a couple of moments for either of them to fully realize what was going on before—

They kissed.

If there were fireworks they were blinded by the fluorescent lights and deafened by the loud cheers all around them, but they still kissed.

Kissing his blond was very different from kissing his boyfriend. Not that it felt wrong or anything, just... different. Nothing forced, nothing too overpowering. It was lovely, and sweet, and Emile was as soft as always. Nothing felt wrong there.  
  
Not even the little voice that said that Chris won't like it. He wasn't there. He didn't need to know.  
  
And so, they kissed.

* * *

 

_Wednesday, January 1st, 2003_

_00:17 a.m._

"You saw The Last Five Years?" Remy asked, a cup of latte warming his rather freezing hands as he walked Emile back to his hotel (Juliana left them to go to a party in Greenwich Village).

"I didn't go to school for anything but my exams from mid-April. I saw that musical so many times, I kinda lost count."

"Oh, okay. Cool."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, January 18th, 2003
> 
> There was a bunny hopping around in the fourth floor hallway.
> 
> "Kathy, did you get a bunny too?" Remy called back into the suite as he saw the bunny. He was on his way to get Mexican food with India, and… the bunny seemed a bit… strange. And out of place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was literally two different moods for me. I don’t remember the first one, but the second one was “who the fuck came up with this asshole he should die in a fire pit oh wait it’s me I’m that fucker”.
> 
> I know, I know, it took me ages to get this one on the road, but… I’ve been on the road myself for two months now…? It’s kinda difficult to write and update… and so many other things happened lately, such as becoming a mod on a server dedicated to people with ADHD (if y'all know ABCs of ADHD... Danny is a wonderful person who kinda needs a bit of a reminder to set himself straight from time to time, but so am I, and please give him a ton of love if you do know him!) and starting three other projects that I can't wait to post here (looking at you, New Gods of Gainesville...), and most importantly of all - I GOT AN EDITOR (hi Chloe! I love you!), so that’s kinda amazing. So… I couldn’t write for a while…
> 
> Is it writer’s block? Could be, who the fuck knows anymore. The important thing now is that I’m burritoing myself in a blanket and posting this!
> 
> So... this chapter has a bit of deadnaming and talking about rape, so... tread with caution.
> 
> And as always, enjoy!  
> Allons-y!

_Saturday, January 18th, 2003_

There was a bunny hopping around in the fourth floor hallway.

"Kathy, did you get a bunny too?" Remy called back into the suite as he saw the bunny. He was on his way to get Mexican food with India, and… the bunny seemed a bit… strange. And out of place.

"No, why?" Came the usual monotone answer from Katherine, who was staring at her phone for some odd reason. She didn't say why, so Remy didn't ask.

"Lestrade, baby, what are you doing?" Emile called as he came up the staircase. His glasses were foggy, his cheeks bright red, and his yellow coat covered in water. "Did Mark let you out of the suite?"

"Emile?" Remy raised a brow as he saw his tiny blond pick up the new bunny. "What… what—"

"Oh, Remy! This is Lestrade!" At Remy's confusion, Emile continued - "I forgot to tell you in our last phone call." He smiled as he pet the bunny - Lestrade, as his name apparently was. "Mycroft bonded so well with his brother during vacation, so I just took Lestrade in too! They're from the same litter, you know? And he's such a curious little bunbun, he's so much more adventurous and extroverted than Mycroft! It's amazing. And kind of worrying."

"Why Lestrade?"

"Susan and Joe, my neighbors, have three sons and they really love mystery and horror novels and that kind of stuff, so they name the bunnies after characters from their favorite books! There's one bunny called Azathoth, she's the prettiest little gray fluff ball, and I think Paul has her now. Paul is their oldest son. He lives in Ann Arbor. I think they called her Azathoth because she's the runt of the litter… but I swear she's a sweetheart."

Emile looked so precious, holding his new bunny like that. Remy could kiss him.

Well, he just did about two weeks ago…

"So where are you going?" Emile tilted his head, a bit like the bunny. _Fucking adorable_.

"Umm… just getting lunch with India. We're gonna catch up on vacation stuff. The usual."

"Oh. Well, say hi for me! I have a rascal to get back to his room. But I would've loved to join! Maybe next time?"

"...next time."

The rooming stuff at Harvard was really weird, in Remy's opinion. It was ridiculous. They had to come back by a certain date or they're kicked out? Preposterous! Utterly preposterous.

Then again… who was he to complain? Maybe later in life.

India looked better than Remy last saw her when he ran into her at the yard. She actually seemed… happier, in a way. Her yellow skirt peeked from under her coat and the rain made her hair a darker shade of red, almost brown.

Remy could only hoped he'd be as happy as her. Maybe one day. After he starts taking T.

"Jackson wanted to give you a Christmas present," she said with a huge smile, thrusting a wrapped… thing into Remy's hands. "It's socks. But nice socks. Like, bright purple Halloween nice socks."

"Just what I needed! Seriously."

It was so easy, laughing with her. He felt a guilty ping in his heart that he didn't meet her sooner.

"Do you want to come with me to Doctor Katz later for the blockers and estrogen?" Remy didn't think at all before he nodded. "Thought so."

"What's he like?"

"Well, she's ridiculously nice—"

"Sorry."

"No need, peach. Doctor Katz is just… so nice, understanding, I know a lot of people would say that about their doctors but she's really great where it comes to the whole… ‘gender identity disorder' thing, I promise…"

* * *

 

Doctor Katz was, indeed, one of the nicer psychiatrists Remy ever met.

"How long did you know you're a boy?" She asked him as India went to see another doctor, to get her pills.

"I don't… know? Years, I think. I changed my name when I was fourteen."

"Are you currently seeing anyone regularly?"

What was it with all the questions with this woman?!

Remy answered anyway. It would be rude not to… "Not really. I have a shrink, Doctor Mendel Grinberg, he works in Harlem. But I used to see him regularly before coming here."

"Mendel Grinberg? I remember him from Cornell… he's lovely." She laughed to herself. "He was a couple years above me, but still. You've got a good psychiatrist."

A moment of silence passed before India came back into the room, smiling as wide as she possibly could.

Holding a bag that Remy could only guess was full of tiny orange prescription bottles.

"Call me once the pills stop making any noticeable changes, we'll up it to ten mg, okay?" Dr. Katz's smirk was a tad bit strange in Remy's opinion, but his friend didn't seem to notice. India simply nodded, hugged the psychiatrist and dragged Remy out of the building. Squealing all the while.

Seeing her this excited made Remy almost forget his jealousy.

She deserved it. She so very much deserved it.

"Do you think I'm going to be okay?" She asked him once she was done squealing.

"Of course. Why wouldn't you?"

* * *

 

"Is Leah doing okay?" Emile asked as the bunnies ran and jumped all over the suite. It was adorable.

"Last I'd heard, she's having trouble with her piano lessons." Remy chuckled at that. She didn't have any trouble with piano lessons, she just didn't want to practice with people around. She told him that Linda would comment on her playing so much that she was no longer proud of herself.

Fucking Linda.

"Well… that's life." One of the bunnies - Mycroft…? Probably Mycroft - stopped jumping and went in front of Remy, looking at him with giant dark eyes.

"He wants you to give him a treat," Emile said, rolling his eyes. "I don't know if we have any bananas left… hang on."

In the thirty seconds it took Emile to go into the kitchen and get anything, the other bunny came begging too.

"Ah, merde…" Emile stopped in his tracks between the kitchenette and the suite's common room. "Well, at least we have a banana left." He plopped back down next to Remy (who couldn't stop himself from thinking how adorable he is even more) and peeled the banana, giving Remy two pieces. "Give them. They don't bite."

It was the cutest thing Remy ever did. Feed bunnies their treats. It was—

"Is Leah really having trouble with her piano lessons?" Emile asked as he leaned back on the couch, withholding the rest of the banana from the fluff balls. "I don't think she should have any problems, I saw her tapping her fingers like—"

"She doesn't practice for personal reasons."

"Oh… yeah, that's a problem."

Christmas was a mess. And Remy didn't want to bring it up. He was sure Emile had a wonderful holiday - even though he insisted that "Hanukkah is just another holiday where my family suddenly remembers that we're an extensive family and my grandma makes latkes, like she does for pretty much every holiday because it's technically kosher for every holiday, so I can't really say it was better or worse than other Hanukkahs we've had before".

But… he had to bring it up.

"My grandma can't mind her own fucking business," Remy mumbled, pretty sure Emile wasn't listening. But he could never know with him. "But Rebecca, don't you want a nice husband and children? Psychology isn't the best field of study, Rebecca. It's a lot of time spent for nothing. You could find a nice man, Rebecca. You could have a family and let your husband bring home the bacon, Rebecca. Why do you insist on looking like that, you'll never find a—"

"Your grandma sounds like a bitch," Emile said, cutting Remy's angry mumbles. "Pardon my French."

"I'll never pardon your French, cutie." Emile smiled so brightly. Remy kisses his cheek before paying attention to the bunnies again. "You can get angry. It's okay."

There was a long moment of silence between them. Just… Remy and Emile. Content with each other. The bunnies went back to chasing each other around the room, looking very happy now that they are their bananas.

"I ran into Natalie Portman in the yard on the way back," Emile said after a while. "And I wanted to tell her a lot of things, but like… I couldn't. You know? I couldn't say anything, really…"

"You were starstruck?" Remy laughed to himself.

"Well, kinda! I guess…" The tone Emile said this in made Remy feel guilty for laughing. "I've been trying to catch her to ask her a couple questions about… stuff. And I know it might sound creepy but—"

"That makes perfect sense, sweetheart. Don't worry about it."

Emile gave Remy a small smile. And Remy felt himself melting into goo.

He was so fucked…

* * *

 

_Friday, January 24th, 2003_

The room was surprisingly quiet, for a Friday afternoon. India insisted on having a meeting the very week after returning,

Sure, it might've just been because Emile insisted on coming with him to check on India and since he was such a stickler for time, they arrived about twenty minutes early. And he was now all over the place, talking to India about something. Remy didn't want to eavesdrop…

_Incoming Call: Chris Mendez_

Well…

"Hey, boo," Remy sighed into the phone.

"So you can pick up the phone, not just text," came the annoyed response.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Chris?"

"You ignored me on New Year's."

...what?

"I ignored you? Ex~ _cuuuse_ me?" The nerve of him! Remy couldn't believe it! "I tried to reach your sorry ass, like, eleven times before I just gave up and texted you, and I'm the one who ignored _you_?! In what fucking universe, Chris?"

"I called you at midnight," Chris just… said. Flat out. It kinda hurt, in a way…

"Midnight for me or you, babe?"

"I called you at midnight, are you deaf? Or hard of hearing?"

"Chris, sweetheart, I live in Manhattan." Remy could literally hear him groan in frustration. Well, he didn't really, but… "You called me at one in the morning. I was already asleep by the time you called me."

"...we'll talk about it after the meeting."

"Alright. See you in ten minutes."

Remy was so sick of Chris being so… so… apathetic! He was supposed to be his boyfriend, damnit! And if he wasn't going to try to put the effort as well as refuse to hear him out, well…

It was going to be time to move on.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Emile was trying to avoid a certain conversation with a certain redhead.

"Can we talk about something really important, sweetie?" India asked, for the second time today.

"I already told you something really important," Emile answered in panic. "I know you said that you don't mind it that I'm asexual and that you'll gladly let me join the meetings because asexuality is a queer identity and that's—"

"That's not what I want to talk about." India took a deep breath, put down the plastic chairs she was carrying, and looked at the blond.

Good golly galoshes, he was so tiny!

"Remy told me you were raped."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 24th, 2003
> 
> Emile's smile faltered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WRITING THIS CHAPTER WAS HELL AND A HALF AND IM SO GLAD ITS FINALLY FINISHED.
> 
> Ahem. Excuse me. I have a couple of very important things to say, though.
> 
> First of all, this fic finally hit over 100 kudos, which doesn't seem like too much compared to other fics such as Keep Him Safe, but... for me, it's a lot. Thank you all so much. It really means a ton for me.
> 
> Second of all, if any of you haven't read the latest chapter of Keep Him Safe, please go do so. I read it the moment it was posted to tumblr and... I was at dinner with my family, so I had to hold in my squealing... to be perfectly honest with y'all, I already knew what was going to happen in that chapter since I started writing chapter three, I think...? So I have known about this for a very long time, but it still made me super happy to see it actually happen in writing. So... go read KHS, y'all. You really should. It's awesome.
> 
> (Quick update: I checked my screenshots and... yeah, I've known about that since July, which is when I started writing this fic. Again, I've known about what happened in sleep for six months, and surprisingly didn't spoil almost any of it to anyone around me. I deserve a fucking prize.)
> 
> To anyone who just came over from Eva's shameless plugging of me - hello, nice to have you here. In this fucked up piece of angst we discuss queer history as well as Remy's personal history, or - as I said to myself while reading and re-reading what Eva has to say about this fic - "well, this story is as much about queer history as it is about Remy, where he came from, where he's going, where he came from cotton eye joey'n".  
> And to anyone who's a regular reader, I'm so glad you're sticking around to read this... this thing. It's become a monster in my head, I can promise you that much.
> 
> So... I hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it - and I did enjoy writing it.  
> (And as of the moment I upload this - sometime around midnight, Dec. 10th, 2018 - happy 20th birthday to me...)
> 
> And now,  
> Allons-y!

_January 24th, 2003_

Emile's smile faltered.

"...so what if I got raped?" He muttered, putting down the stack of chairs he was holding. "What's done is done. They had their fun—"

"They…?" India tilted her head. Oh shoot… "There was more than one person?"

"More like three… what? Why are you looking at me like—"

The stack India was holding fell to the floor.

"Did you tell anyone?" Emile stared at the floor. Maybe she'll go away if he doesn't cooperate. "Emile! Did you tell anyone?"

"I told the doctors…" Emile's voice faltered. "What's going on?"

"I'm surprised you're even alive right now!" India's pacing was… terrifying. For some reason… she suddenly just… turned so scary. "Mixing date rape drugs with alcohol, which is what I'm assuming happened to you, is so dangerous! And I'm only assuming that's what happened because I heard from Remy that they found GHB traces—"

"I'm not proud," Emile managed to stutter. "Of… all this. I just… I can drink, okay? I made some mistakes in the past—"

"You're seventeen!"

"I made some mistakes in the past, and… this one makes me feel like all those mistakes have been trying to tell me that I shouldn't exist…"

"No… no, peach, please." He already started crying by the time she stepped in to hug him. "I get that. I really do. Sometimes I think about how much better my life might've been if I pretended like I'm 'cured' of being transgender after conversion. My cousin wouldn't have done what she did, that's the biggest plus. But… I wouldn't have come here. I wouldn't have started on my way to become a statistics analyst. I wouldn't have met Jenna. I would probably be living a sad, closeted life back home, and that isn't such a nice thing."

"You were too…?"

"I was too, yeah… as victims, we gotta stick to each other."

The wet spots on India's sweater were getting larger by the second. But she didn't mind it.

"Like I was told when I was sixteen," she said, much quieter than before. "Nobody is going to believe a man who says he was raped. We gotta stick together, whether we like it or not."

* * *

"Hey, isn't that that friend of yours?" Remy heard behind him about two minutes before the meeting started.

Oh, _good_.

"Hey, didn't you deliberately choose to forget that I live in the other side of the US from you because you wanted to be a little fuck?" Remy asked back, looking at Chris turn redder than a tomato.

"I swear to god, I had no idea!"

"Suck it and your excuses, Mendez."

"Hey, hey… come on, Remy. Won't you at least let me make it up to you?"

Remy couldn't stay angry… well, he could. But not as angry. It was a stupid reason, too…

"I will." Chris beamed at him. "But it'll take a very long time."

"...you have a week."

"I won't let you down," Chris said with the same wide, obnoxious grin, quickly kissing Remy's cheek and taking a seat.

Fuck him and his obnoxious self.

On the third of January, Remy and Emile sat down on the hotel bed in what was probably the fanciest hotel Remy's ever been to (though he never really visited any hotels in his life, no time or money for that). They were listening to Gustav Holst's The Planets as Emile performed a one-man dramatic reading of No Exit, and Remy couldn't feel more at peace.

This situation right here - all the people, all the tension, Chris right there a few steps away from him - was the exact opposite.

"Do you want me to leave?" A quiet voice said and Remy felt himself being squeezed so tight, he was sure his ribs would crack. _Emile._ "I can leave if you—"

"Come on, sit next to me," Remy said as quietly and took a rather far seat from Chris. Serves him right.

"Happy Friday, everyone," India opened the meeting. "I see that we got some new people after the break, so we're going to do another name round. Who wants to start?"

Emile raised his hand almost immediately.

"I'm Emile, I'm— do we mention our major?"

"If you want to."

"I'm Emile, I'm a psychology major, and I'm probably gay. Or asexual. I just… don't really know if I'm more gay or asexual yet."

* * *

_Monday, January 27th_

"Look, I find some of what you teach suspect," Emile hummed to himself as he skipped behind Remy back to their building after a particularly entertaining sols 20 class. "Because I'm used to relying on intellect, but I try to open up to what I don't know, because reason says I should've died three years ago…"

"Em, stop it," Remy half-laughed. "I get it, you're still thinking about Rent."

"It was such a good show!" Emile whined - well, sort of. "Jai Rodriguez was really good!"

"I met Idina Menzel through this," Remy said with another chuckle. "She's nice… kind of a diva, if you ask me."

"So… like you?"

"What do you mean, like me?"

"Nice, but kind of a diva." Emile nudged him. "I'll bet you she's totally selfless and sweet but acts like she doesn't care about anything in the world—"

"No, actually… she isn't." Remy sighed. The memories were foggy - it was over eight years ago - but… "Dad is working on some project with her again. Her and Kristin Chenoweth…"

"Kristin?" Emile shrieked. "Good golly, I love her! She's so sweet and talented!"

"I'm really not supposed to tell you anything," Remy laughed, and then stopped.

A figure made him freeze at his doorstep. A small, shaking figure, with braided brown hair and an ill-fitting, black, puffy coat.

Leah was rapidly knocking on Remy's suite door.

* * *

"Why did you think it was a good idea to come here?" Remy asked, careful not to scream. Leah sat in the living room, her hair dripping wet from the shower he made her take, wrapped up in the clothes she brought with her in her lime green schoolbag. She was waiting on her hot chocolate.

"I wanted to."

"How did you even get a bus ticket? You're seven!"

"I took money from mom and went to the bus station!" Leah huffed. "I know where the buses are, and I know how to—"

"I didn't say you don't know, Leah Mae," Remy chastised, putting the cup of hot chocolate on the table quite forcefully. "But you're seven years old! This was incredibly dangerous of you—"

"I don't wanna live at home anymore!" Leah screamed. "Mom was mean all of Christmas, and Lizzie wasn't being nice when we went back to school, she didn't want me to be her friend anymore, and Rachel was annoying—"

"Sweetie, they're going to think I kidnapped you!" Leah was taken aback. Remy was worried to the point of terrifying. "They're going to think I kidnapped you, Leah. It won't end well!"

"I didn't think…" the tears started coming out. Oh shit… "I didn't mean it! I just… I don't like being home! Don't be mad at me!"

"Oh, baby, no, I'm not mad at you!" Remy was quick to take her in for a hug. His poor baby sister… "I'm just worried, Leah. Extremely worried. Never do such a thing ever again, okay?" She nodded in his arms. "There's nothing we can do about this now, but—"

The door opened with a bang, and "I brought the bunnies!"

Leah immediately perked up. Mycroft tried to hop straight into her lap the moment he was close enough, since he already knew her and was very worried for the tiny human, but Lestrade took his time getting to know her. She was new, and he didn't know her yet, and what if she wasn't going to be nice?

"Leah, this is Lestrade," Emile said with a huge smile, closing the door and coming to cuddle them all - Remy included. "He's Mycroft's brother, and I adopted him after Christmas!"

"But you don't celebrate Christmas."

"No I don't, but you do." He booped her nose, making her giggle. "Lestrade is a nice boy. Give him a bit, he'll jump into your lap in no time."

As Leah entertained herself, playing with the bunnies and telling them stories, Remy pulled Emile to the side.

"She ran away from home!"

"I heard that when you asked me to go get the bunnies, Remy."

"She's seven years old! What do I do with a seven-year old runaway? Is it even a thing? A seven-year old runaway?"

Emile kisses Remy's cheek quicker than he could process it happening. "It's going to be fine. Call Linda, let her know that Leah is here—"

"Leah asked me not to tell anyone she's here," Remy sighed, rubbing his face in frustration.

"I understand, but… Linda is still your mom. Leah is still seven years old. She needs to go home, whether you like it or not." When Remy still seemed like he's having trouble processing it, Emile pulled him into a hug. "Do you want me to talk to her about it for you?"

Remy could only say a very weak "yes please" before Emile went back to the couch, to talk to Leah.

He was jittering. He was angry, and scared, and disappointed, and proud, and he felt everything so intensely and was so shocked and confused that he couldn't name it. He barely turned eighteen last July, he didn't even know how to drive yet, and he was absolutely, most definitely, going to be in trouble for this seven-year old child showing up at his door after running away from home.

He wasn't going to call Linda. But he couldn't keep Leah over. And he didn't know shit about raising children, for the period of time he _was_ going to have Leah over, until he figures out what to do. Remy wanted to scream, how much he wanted to. But he couldn't.

So he did the next best thing he could do. He dropped to the floor and started crying.

He was too tired, physically and emotionally, to pick himself back up at that particular moment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday, January 27th, 2003; Day 1 of raising Leah Hollander
> 
> “You’re going to call her, right?” Emile asked, playing with Leah’s hair as she slept. He started braiding her hair right before she fell asleep and couldn’t continue now.
> 
> “First I need to explain this to the others,” Remy whispered angrily. “There’s a seven year old in the suite! How in the fuck am I supposed to explain this, gurl?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one month? This must be a miracle! A Bitchmas miracle! Merry Bitchmas, everyone!
> 
> I’m surprised I finished this chapter and that it came out exactly the way I wanted it to. Lately that hasn’t been happening all that often… so… we gotta be grateful for some stuff.
> 
> Warning - this chapter is actually relatively light, but includes mentions of slashers and some deadnaming. You have been warned.
> 
> So, for now, enjoy.  
> Allons-y!

_Monday, January 27th, 2003; Day 1 of raising Leah Hollander_

"You're going to call her, right?" Emile asked, playing with Leah's hair as she slept. He started braiding her hair right before she fell asleep and couldn't continue now.

"First I need to explain this to the others," Remy whispered angrily. "There's a seven year old in the suite! How in the fuck am I supposed to explain this, gurl?"

"First of all, don't gurl me, I'm not my sister, I'm not cool enough for this nickname." Remy snickered at that. "Second of all, let me do the talking for you! Where are they, anyway?"

"Lucy's got dinner with her family, Rashida and Sammy have evening classes until ten I think, and Katherine is just… wherever. I don't know."

"See? You don't have to worry about this right now!" Emile gave Remy a gentle smile that melted his heart. Oh goodness… "Wanna watch something while we wait on one of them to come back? I wanna watch Hair."

"But… it's… it's Hair…"

"Yes, and? It's either that or Mulan. Take your pick."

"How about Heathers, babe?"

"But… Leah is here… what if she wakes up?"

"What if she wakes up while we're watching Hair?"

"...you're right. Let's watch Hair, and then Heathers. Okay?"

Leah woke up around the time Veronica threw up on Heather Chandler's shoes. Emile was still playing with her hair and his hair was on Remy's shoulder, trying to focus on the tv and resist sleep. It wasn't working particularly well, but he was doing his best.

"You know, they wanted to make it so that Veronica kills herself too and then they have prom in heaven," Emile mumbled.

"What's prom like?"

Remy immediately paused the movie. "Prom is… prom is like… it's like a huge princess ball for high schoolers."

"I never got to go to prom," Emile told Leah extremely gently, nudging her to sit up. "But my sister did. And she looked like a princess, and her friend Kathleen was crowned Prom Queen…"

"I was going to go to prom as Rebecca," Remy mused. "My friends took me shopping for dresses and everything… but it didn't work out. I asked dad to take me on a corrective trip a day after the dress shopping. I went to prom in a tux."

"It didn't end well, did it?" Emile asked in an extremely worried tone.

"I mean… who the f- frick cared, babe? If anyone did, I just reminded them that Britney wore all denim to the AMAs, so they can't judge me on my fashion choices."

"But I thought you liked Britney…" Emile managed a small smile through his worry.

"Oh, I do. She's the queen of my heart. I love her so much. I totally wouldn't kill her to get to Justin either, and that's _very_ hard for me to say. But gurl, that was a _look._ "

"But did it end well?"

"I got locked in the bathroom on the day of my AP biology test for being a freak of nature."

Leah waited for them to keep talking as a heavy silence fell on the room. And then, she gave a decisive nod.

"I'm not gonna go to prom," she declared, making Remy and Emile smile. "I don't wanna be locked in the bathroom."

"Good choice, kiddo." Emile ruffled her hair and gave her a bright smile. Remy felt…

Well, he felt like he was in love.

* * *

 

_Wednesday, January 29th; Day 3 of raising Leah Hollander_

"Dr. Freeman," Remy called as he ran out of the hall after today's lecture. The seventy-something year old professor walked really fast, Remy had to admit. "Doctor, I have a thing to ask you."

"Yes, Mr. Harris?" The doctor asked, not once slowing down his quick pace. "What is so important that I must be late to my next lecture to talk to you about?"

"I need your help in changing my name and sex in administration," Remy said, out of breath. "I gave Vivian the note but she said it'll take a while, and it hasn't been cha—"

"Come to my office during visitation hours and I'll assist you in anything."

And with that, the professor was gone.

India babysat Leah for Remy today. She had nothing important that day, maybe only her early morning classes - her main professor for the day was apparently sick - and she gladly took over taking Leah into town and showing her around the place.

Which meant Remy could, hypothetically, go see Dr. Freeman later. Or maybe Gilliam, if Freeman isn't, well… free to see him.

He had a good two hours before his last class of the day, and India told him that they were done in the city and came back to get some pizza, and that they'd meet him at his suite. So… that was really the only place for him to go now.

To his suite.

Where his sister waited, her wonderful wavy hair now chin-length and held back in a half-ponytail by a purple butterfly clip.

"What did you do?" He said, trying not to hiss in anger.

"She wanted a haircut," India explained. "Why are you so angry, sweetheart?"

"If Linda sees this… I don't…"

"She'll deal with it. She's a big girl. She can figure out what to do when her daughter gets an adorable haircut."

"Did mom ever tell you anything about cutting your hair?" Remy asked Leah, who just smiled and nodded. "Do you think she'll like it?" Leah hesitated, but nodded again.

And then she turned to entertaining herself with the… object she was playing with before Remy interrupted. It looked like a lotus box puzzle, if all of Emile's rants about… various subjects… taught him anything.

"I bought her a lotus box puzzle when she started getting bored," India laughed. "Reminds me a lot of a certain professor of yours." When Remy seemed confused, she laughed even more. "Have you really never seen Gilliam fidget?"

"I've seen Emile fidget too," Remy mused. "But that's not the point! Why did you let her get a haircut?"

"She said she needed one, sweetie! She said she has a lot of split ends and it's about time!"

"How does she know what split ends are?" Remy laughed.

"Peach, I don't know. She just said it. So I let her get a haircut, big fucking deal. She looks great and she's happy."

Remy have a defeated huff before laying his head on India's shoulder. Breathing felt so heavy, in that mess of feelings he was going through. He was going to have to learn to deal.

"I had a sandwich for lunch," Leah started babbling. "And pancakes. Remy, we had pancakes! With banana!"

"Really? That's awesome, sweetheart!"

"And we bought some clothes for me," she kept going. "And they have sequins on them! India said they're called sequins. They're cool. And some puzzles, and only _then_ we went to eat lunch, and then we came back because it was getting late and stuff and now I want pink hair."

"...you're not getting pink hair."

"But—"

"When you're sixteen. You can wait until you're sixteen."

"Good golly galoshes, you got a haircut!" Emile called from the doorway. How did he…? "Remy, I just came here to drop off your stuff, you forgot your laptop in class earlier, and—"

"Hi Emile!" Leah beamed, fiddling with her puzzle. "I'm gonna get pink hair when I'm sixteen!"

"I heard that, sweetie!" Emile handed Remy his laptop, ruffled Leah's hair, and went back outside. "Okay, I'm gonna… I have a meeting with Professor Lewis today… okay, see you later!"

He was so… so… _cute. Precious. Adorable. Perfect. And lovely and amazing and the absolute best and—_

India couldn't hold back a smile after that. And she wouldn't tell Remy why.

* * *

 

_Friday, January 31st, 2003; Day 5 of raising Leah Hollander_

Emile had to go complete a ‘minyan' (or whatever he called it…) at the Chabad house, and that meant he couldn't babysit tonight as Remy had his… "appointment" with Dr. Freeman.

Remy really needed him to babysit tonight…

"Sorry, boo," India told him after the group meeting was over. Leah sat at the meeting, reading a book, saying nothing at all. She did wonderfully. "I promised Jenna I'll take her out and I can't bail on this one…"

"Can't bail on what?" Someone asked, and Remy could see India rolling her eyes. "Need me to cover for—"

"I'm fine, Chris. Just fine. Don't worry about it. Nothing you need to cover for me."

Remy swore he could hear India groan.

"I have an appointment in fifteen minutes and I need a babysitter for my sister…" Remy ran a hand through his hair as he realized just how tight his time is.

"I could do it."

India took a double take and almost started laughing. Not good…

"I know how to do those things," Chris continued. "I can babysit her for you, babe."

"Are you sure, Chris? It'll take a while."

"I don't have anything to do today." He started wiggling his eyebrows, as if that'd convince Remy any better.

Good lord almighty…

"Fine. But don't do anything stupid!" Remy held back a strained smile as he pulled out the keys. "There's instant ramen and some sort of frozen veggie curry thing in the freezer. The curry is Rashida's, she asked that we won't touch it."

"Don't worry, I'm going to do great," Chris said with a huge smile, grabbing the keys quickly.

Right before leaving Remy could see him struggling to get Leah out of her chair, but she was a stubborn child. He was sure it'll be fine.

* * *

 

It was the longest twenty minutes in Remy's life. Between being told that "I understand that you must look over your sister, Mr. Harris, but you can maintain a level of dedication for your classes regardless of how demanding raising a child is" (he was surprisingly understanding, Remy noted) and having to sit for ten minutes in administration to wait for just two papers that took no more than three minutes to sign, he just spent twenty minutes doing mostly nothing.

What a pile of bullshit…

But at least he was done with it. And weren't the positives supposed to outweigh the negatives?

"Remy," Leah whispered when he entered the suite. It was dark, and she was hiding under a blanket, Chris completely detached from them as he ate pringles and watched a thing on tv. "Remy we're watching a movie! I tried to read the title and I think it's called Elmo Street!"

A quick look on the screen almost confirmed Remy's growing panic.

"There's this guy called Freddy," she kept whispering. "He's trying to tickle war with some people, and—"

"Chris, what the fuck are you doing?" Remy hissed, turning on all the lights and turning the tv off. "Nightmare on Elm Street? Really?"

"I wanted to watch Kuzco," Leah pouted. "I like Kuzco."

"I know you like Kuzco, angel," Remy quickly said, hugging her as tight as he could. "Chris, you could've just put on that movie!"

"I ain't watching no girly princess movie," Chris said defensively, looking at Remy in shock.

"Yeah, well, you're babysitting a seven year old. You kinda have to watch the girly princess movie. And now you can go back to your fucking dorm and keep watching your fucking slashers because I'm here and you don't have to babysit her anymore."

It took another two minutes before Chris finally left, and Leah wiggled her way out of the blanket.

"Wanna watch Kuzco now, sweetie?"

"Yeah! I love Kuzco."

* * *

 

Emile passed by Remy's suite around nine thirty. Leah was fast asleep, tucked away in Remy's bed, and Remy was… well, he was grateful.

He was grateful that he managed to finally get her to sleep without any fuss, like in the past week.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Emile said quietly as he knocked on the door, entering the suite without even waiting for an answer. "We had to leave early…"

"How was dinner?" Remy asked with a smile, the tv flickering blue.

"Not that great… really, the nerve of some people! Why do five college students have to pay for forty and some people's dinners? Seriously, why?! Some of those people even had children with them, it was—"

"Emmy, babe, I wasn't there. I wouldn't know."

But Emile kept rambling. "Really, and I mean, there weren't enough men for anything anyway, just barely for the prayers, and Arye said that it wouldn't have mattered anyway because that's what usually happens, the people who sign up for sabbath come only for dinner and not for the prayers, which is like, okay, sure, you do that, but isn't that a bit… I don't know… totally rude and disrespectful? Eleanor went there yesterday to help Chaya cook, that poor woman overworks herself for days and for what?! For nobody to respect any of her efforts?! Oh, by the way, Arye and Chaya are the couple who run the Chabad house, they're super nice, they have six children—"

"Take a breath, gurl! You ain't about to faint on me!"

"Okay, sorry!" Emile laughed, moved to put his head in Remy's lap, and continued. "So anyway, we didn't stay for long. Ira had an allergic reaction to something in the salads, I think it was the sesame seeds in that one coleslaw—"

"Who puts sesame seeds in coleslaw?" Remy raised an eyebrow, feeling Emile shrug in his lap. "Babe… seriously… there should be, like, a law against that or something."

"I know! And it was made with vinegar too, can you believe those people? I mean, mayo isn't dairy!"

Remy couldn't hold back his laugh. All this ranting was just… so cute. Emile was adorable.

"Yeah, and after that I couldn't eat dinner," Emile sighed. "So we went to get pizza. And I was going to bring you some too but we didn't have enough money for that so we can do it tomorrow! Ira and Michelle are going back there tomorrow for cholent and I considered joining them but you gotta be there at ten am and wait for two hours for it and what sort of person would wait for two hours for anything? So… I'm not going. And it's not going to be vegetarian anyway which is another negative, why didn't I think about it before? I can't eat it if—"

"Okay, and now short and to the point. You had a horrible evening." Emile nodded. "You went to get pizza." He nodded again. "Wanna watch Cinderella? We had a Disney marathon."

"And you didn't wait for me?" Emile laughed. "Sure, I'd love to! It's been a while since Ana and I had a Disney marathon, I wanna marathon!"

"Quick question, who's Ana?"

"Analiese. My niece. She's three!"

Remy was going to have a _lot_ of questions for Emile and Juliana by the end of Cinderella.

* * *

 

_Saturday, February 1st, 2003; 08:27 am_

There was a knock on the suite door, followed quickly by a "Remy, someone's looking for you!"

So… Linda did bother to show up.

"Took you long enough," Remy groaned, rubbing his eyes. She didn't look much better in his tired mind. Same overly fake red hair, same overly fancy clothes.

Sporting some very dark undereye bags. Could be mistaken for shiners.

"Don't be rude," Linda said, her tome sharp as always. "Where's Leah?"

"Sleeping. Please don't make me wake her up, she's had nightmares all week—"

"Don't tell me how to raise my child."

"She's been here for almost a full week, Linda. Don't you care about her even just—"

The slap was too fast for Remy to process, and the pain rang so loudly.

"I don't care about my child, Rebecca? How dare you even say that? Do you seriously think I just sat on my ass for a whole week doing nothing?" She laughed. She had the nerve to laugh. "I had such a short notice to call in to work, report absence, and then plan how to drive forty hours back and forth to pick my daughter up from a whole other state without my husband stalking me and dragging me back home. I need to fucking ask him for permission every time I wanna drive as far as Atlanta. You know how fucking crazy that is? Atlanta! It's an hour away! And seventy percent of the time he doesn't let me. But no, I just sat on my ass and did nothing. Stop being so fucking ungrateful, _Remy_. You're not the only person in this world who has problems."

It didn't take that long for Leah to wake up. Linda reacted surprisingly well to the haircut, and even helped her pack everything she brought with her. It was almost… almost like Linda was a good mom, at last.

It was when they left that both Remy and Leah remembered just how bad she can be.

"Don't forget you weren't created sassy, you had to get it from someone. You can dish it out so well but can't take anything back."

They were gone soon after that, and Remy felt a heavy sinking feeling in his chest.

A good time as any to go get pizza with Emile.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, February 12th, 2003
> 
> "I have a date!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, folks!
> 
> This chapter was... a project for me. Because I knew what was going on way ahead of time, but I had no idea where to put it in the story... and then someone reminded me of quality over quantity. So I’m going to speed up the plot a little bit from this point on. Fair warning, though, next chapter will touch on some rather personal subjects, and I suppose this one is a gateway to it. As much as I’d like it to be a filler, it really isn’t.
> 
> Warning - this chapter also has Holocaust mentions, sexual harassment mentions (in a little bit of detail, no smut), and I think that’s it...? But I’m not sure. So please let me know if there’s anything else.
> 
> So for now, I hope you will all enjoy!  
> Allons-y!

_Wednesday, February 12th, 2003_

"I have a date!"

Remy tried to get Emile's head out of the book he was reading, but to no avail (how he fucking hated how pretentious that sounds). The second Emile entered the suite, he announced he had a date, and then opened his book and kept reading.

This sort of behavior was driving Remy insane.

"Emmy, babe, you wanna tell me what's wrong—"

"You're not my fucking therapist. I have a date. Can something good happen to me once without you immediately thinking it's for a bad reason?"

"Have I ever done that…? Because if so, I'm so sorry."

"No…" Emile sighed, putting down the book - carefully bookmarking and closing it too. "I don't know…"

"So what's bothering you, lovely?"

"How do you go on a date?"

Remy's heart dropped.

"It's not, like… it's not a big deal or anything," Emile rambled on. "Just… this guy, okay, I met him at that cafe near the subway, he thinks I'm cute, he asked for my number, and we're going out on Friday. But… how do you go on a date?"

"You… just go." Emile sighed loudly and turned his puppy eyes to Remy. "No, babe, you don't get to pull that on me. It's just like if you and I went out for coffee, but romantic." When Emile raised an eyebrow, Remy laughed. "Well, not exactly. But you're gonna have fun. I promise."

"I wanna call Julie…"

"So go call Julie. I'm gonna look over your book. See that no gremlins come to steal it."

That got the intended result. Emile laughed, and then took his phone and went to the kitchen, leaving Remy alone with the book. Hmm…

‘ _Chapter 1: The Riddle House._

_The villagers of Little Hangleron still called it "the Riddle House," even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there.'_

"Julie," Emile's voice broke in the kitchen. "Julie I fucked up."

Remy didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it seemed more interesting than this book.

"I don't know… oh hi Ana!" Emile's voice turned even more childish at that. "You went to the park with daddy? Wow! That's wonderful, sweetie! Did Ladybug give you lots of cuddles? Uh-huh? That sounds so fun! Well, you go sledding with daddy, okay? I need to talk to mommy, but I promise I'll call back later, baby girl. Mmhm? You went to Target with granma yesterday? That's amazing! I'm so happy for you, baby! Okay. Yeah, okay. I love you too. Bye now!"

The joyous, childlike quality his voice held was dropped right then and there.

"Julie," Emile whispered, his voice breaking. "Julie, I failed… I messed up! I swear I— it's not about the Holocaust Remembrance Day, I forgot, I'm so— please don't tell gran about this, I won't hear the end of it… Julie I have a date! This is what I called you about, not for you to grill me over forgetting that we had family die in Auschwitz, so please stop grilling me!"

Remy stopped listening after that. Whatever was going on between them wasn't any of his business.

* * *

 

"You okay, honey?" Remy asked after Emile hung up, red faced and panting in anger.

"No," Emile whined. "Why…?"

"Because I wanna make sure you—"

"It's Angel and Collins' first song together!"

"Oh… yeah, I forgot, my bad…" Remy chuckled. "But are you okay?"

"Julie grilled me more for forgetting something than she helped…" It took a moment. But Emile fell into Remy's lap almost immediately, crying. And it would've been an understatement to say that Remy was confused. "My grandma is going to kill me!"

"Nah, sweets, stop it." Remy rubbed Emile's back. It was the only thing he could do, right…? "Forgetting is normal, it's not such a big deal—"

"Not when it's the ho—"

"—And your date is going to be amazing. I can tell. Now, when is that date?"

"Friday…"

How convenient.

"Did he say what you guys are gonna be doin?"

"Not really… he wanted to go to a club but we can't."

"Don't go anywhere there's the chance of him getting you booze. We don't need a repeat, okay?" Emile hummed in agreement. "If he doesn't listen to you, he's not worth it."

"So who is?" Remy felt his heart pang. "I'm serious. He's the only guy who ever asked!"

"He's only the first. There will be others. Emile, you're seventeen, you're tiny—"

"Remy, what if he tries anything?" Emile's huge blue eyes hid behind tear-stained glasses. Remy removed them, setting them aside. He'll clean them later.

"If he does, start looking in the ocean. There's enough salt in the ocean, you don't need to look in the land." Emile gave him a confused look. "Honestly I don't really understand that one either, but Percy insists that it means well."

"I… don't understand."

"There's plenty of fish in the sea, Emile. Salt of the earth is a very subjective term. If this one doesn't work, the next one might. And if that one doesn't, the next one. Dating isn't supposed to hurt and you're going to be okay. You have me."

* * *

 

_Thursday, February 13th_

"Peach, you're worryin' me and I don't like it. So either square up and tell me or I'll ask Remy," India laughed in mild frustration. "Everything okay?"

The setting of this conversation was so fitting, it was ridiculous. The picturesque little cafe, a walking distance away from Harvard Yard, was packed full of freezing students in this rather beautiful February day. The jewel-like pastries peeking from the display made Remy want to order more than he could handle right now, and he'd already ordered tea (to make Emile happy that he isn't drinking too much coffee) and two blueberry muffins.

But as much as the scene was lovely and bright, Emile wasn't for some reason.

Remy looked at him, looking redder than the berry tart he was eating. He's been crying for most of the time they've been in this cafe, and it wasn't looking pretty.

"I…" Emile sighed. "I'm going on a date. And I'm not… I'm not sure on whether or not it'll go…"

"Hey," a strange voice came. He was… nerdy enough. Not much meat or muscle on him, his clothes were basically hanging off his shoulder bones. Other than that, he looked perfectly average.

Which made for a surprise when Remy realized that he's talking to Emile. This… unremarkable at best human was talking to the purest angel Remy knew.

"Hey," Emile threw back, blushing slightly. _No no no no no—_

"You still cool with tomorrow?" The guy asked - _tomorrow??? **This** was the guy who asked Emile out??_

"Yeah! You could've called me, you know…"

It took a couple minutes for that guy to realize that Remy was glaring at him (and even longer for Remy to realize that he was glaring at all), and within moments, he was gone.

"Em, love, be careful," India sighed after a long moment of silence. "Please. I know that guy…"

"Is he that bad?" Emile whispered.

"He's not bad, just… how do I say this…" It sounded like something got stuck in her throat. Oh no… "Just promise me you'll be careful. I don't know anyone who ever went out with him but I know him and the less I tell you about him the better."

"Whatever you're gonna say isn't going to change anything," Remy said, hoping Emile agrees with the sentiment.

"...remember I told you about the time I won Murder by dropping a towel and someone posted pictures of me all over school?" She clicked her tongue and flicked her finger in the guy's general direction. "That's the guy."

"Oh…" Emile was taken aback. "Umm… what happened? You didn't tell me that story…"

India groaned. "You could ask anyone. Everyone knows about the great towel incident of—"

"I want you to tell me, though."

"...in my sophomore year, I won Murder by mostly surviving for most of the game, and then it was just me and that asshole. And he was a senior back then, I think he's back for his law master's… I don't actually remember and frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

That was a lot of new information for Remy to process. This guy… was he a maniac? A pedophile, maybe? What went through his raisin-shaped and equally sized brain that he, a barely average master's degree student, decided to ask out a literal child??? (Not that Emile was a child, Remy was quick to correct himself, he was seventeen. But still!)

"So I got out of the shower," India continued after sipping her coffee. The lipstick stains stood out brightly against the stark white of the cup, and Remy saw Emile struggling to stop himself from wiping them off. "I wasn't planning on anything happening, yeah? And I wasn't even out yet. I mean, I passed, I've been doing a lot to pass since I got out of conversion—"

"You were in conversion?!"

"She'll tell you this story later," Remy said, nodding slowly and pointedly at his big sister. A small gesture. _You don't have to if you don't want to._

"So I guess someone started spreading rumors. I think Kushner. That asshole hates my guts, I'll bet you he's the one who did that." She laughed to herself. Aware that nobody found that funny. At all. That she was just going to make herself miserable by continuing the story. "And at some point during the game people started going around with cameras. In my dorm especially there were some perverts who took pictures of the girls if they decided to strip, you know? That shit's fucked up. But anyway, so that asshole and me were the last people standing, and I was in a towel. And he was… he's not a very subtle person, let's say that, so I heard him come to get me. And I got him back. And I dropped my towel in the process."

Another strained laugh. Her coffee was growing cold, just like Emile's tea, that he avoided drinking so he wouldn't make a spit take.

"The pervert took naked pictures of me and hung them all around campus. And I guess… it's only thanks to Freeman and Gilliam, and Jenna, that it didn't turn into anything much bigger than that."

"...guess I can say the same about Halloween," Emile muttered. "It's thanks to both of you that… that nothing turned into a bigger deal…"

The silence was rather awkward, as Emile drank his tea and did his best to avoid the others' gazes. He was getting more and more nervous by the second.

Remy felt all the tension drop from Emile's shoulders and come to his when the blond got up, almost spilling his tea in the process, and got away from the table.

"Please don't try to stop me, I'm going to do something very important."

"Emile…" India sighed, knowing full well he won't leave. "Emmy. Peach. Sugar. Em-bug—"

"That's a new one," Remy muttered to himself.

"Don't do anything you'll regret, okay?"

"...I promise I won't regret this."

* * *

 

_Friday, February 14th_

Emile was definitely going to regret this.

It was only fifteen minutes after the end of the group meeting and Remy kinda expected Chris to do something - nothing grandiose, he's only human, but give him chocolate or _something_ \- but he hasn't seen the older boy all day, so he guessed it was a lost cause.

And Emile, instead of going on his date, was curled up in a corner by the end of the meeting, trying to keep himself from crying.

Today's reorganizing the room was set to a mix of Maria Mena, David Bowie and The Four Seasons. Nobody really dared telling India to stop it with her weird mixes anymore. They just went along with it. Remy couldn't really do much though, just stand in the middle of the room and stare into space.

Why… what was going on? Emile stayed, so why wasn't he doing anything?

"Back to work with you," India joked, walking past him. "You've been holding that chair for ten minutes now."

"Sorry, I just…" Remy sighed. How unlike him to worry like that, about anyone! "I'm worried about him…"

"So go talk to him. Please."

It wasn't so easy. Remy had to drag Emile over to his suite, where the bunnies napped peacefully (and Remy didn't have the heart to wake them up), and manage through the kitchenette to make a cup of tea before Emile even spoke.

"Someone asked me if I wanted to be his valentine today," Emile said quietly, looking in his cup of tea. "I tried to say no. He… he pulled me by the arm and… and…"

"Take your time, babe," Remy said softly, hugging him close. "I'm listening."

"He said… he said, ‘but I got the condoms and shit already, you sure you don't wanna? Fucking stuck up slut.' I… Remy, what did I do wrong?"

"...absolutely nothing." The bunnies stirred awake a few minutes ago, and Remy was quick to go bring them to cuddle Emile. They seemed content to sit in their dad's lap, much unlike Emile. "Emmy, you did nothing. Who was even that guy?"

"I don't know…"

It took an hour for Emile to calm down. The sun has already set, and Remy had no idea what to do. Chris called earlier to apologize for not doing anything because he has an "important project to do" (in February, for his English major, yeah right).

So maybe he did have an idea what to do.

"Emmy, babe, look at me," Remy said gently. Emile wiped his eyes and looked straight at Remy - he was too pure to be true, oof. "Emile, will you be my valentine? We can just stay here, order pizza and watch Disney movies all night."

Emile hesitated for a long moment. And then nodded.

"Yes, I… I'll be your valentine, Remy."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, March 19th, 2003
> 
> "Do you understand why I asked you to come here today?" Gilliam asked, clicking a pen.
> 
> Emile was frozen in his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months. It took me two months to write this chapter. I… I’m honestly kinda surprised at myself…
> 
> Umm… I didn’t intend on writing this chapter so early, it was meant to be dragged on for a while more and has kind of a big time jump in it (for plot reasons, trust me), but I mean… the fuck with it. The world deserves some BAMF Emile, we need some cuddles, and the subject of the first… three fourths of this chapter is one that I went to friends from a discord server with and told them I’m trying to make it really subtle and one of them just went, “This isn’t subtle at all, this shit is jumping off the walls and doing somersaults in front of me.”
> 
> So I mean… let’s get this over with! Let’s let the cat halfway out of the bag and have the first Emile-centered chapter of many, many others planned.
> 
> Warning - this chapter may not have as much period-appropriate transphobia as usual, or any at all really, but there are Holocaust mentions, mental health discussion and that sort of thing. See yourselves warned.
> 
> And as always, enjoy!  
> Allons-y!

_Wednesday, March 19th, 2003_

"Do you understand why I asked you to come here today?" Gilliam asked, clicking a pen.

Emile was frozen in his seat.

"Umm…" Emile's leg started shaking. "Is it about my last project…? I swear I really did read everything I said I—"

"Look…" Gilliam sighed. "You're a fantastic student. Really, Emile. You are one of my best students. But… I gotta say, you remind me of myself, and not in a good way."

"What do you mean…?"

"Do you mind if we went over your last test?" Emile nodded, feeling the heavy sensation in his stomach get even stronger.

"The last test I took was the implicit…"

"Your last written test," Gilliam clarified. "The one in December." He pulled out a folder labeled and decorated with a mint green marker.

_‘Emile Picani - 2002/3'_

"Your answers were great," Gilliam said with a sad smile as he pulled out the last test from the back of the folder. "They just didn't fit the questions. Look here, define four of the following five Gestalt Laws of Organization."

"I defined four of the following five Gestalt Laws—"

"You _explained_ them, Emile. Define and explain are two very different instructions. I've been there too, kid. I know it's confusing." Emile wanted to vanish right then and there. It wasn't… he was trying his best! "Also, question eight, part c, why do we dream?" The doctor started underlining the question with his pen, thankfully closed. "Take one of the proposed theories and provide one way in which this may be supported."

"But… but I did—"

"Part d, take the _same theory_ from part c and provide a way in which it might be refuted."

Well… they were going to kick him out, weren't they.

"You're a very smart kid, Emile Picani. I'll bet you so many people told you you have such potential and all that… I know it's very frustrating." Gilliam pushed Emile's glasses up, wiping his eyes from unshed tears in the process. It was… somewhat calming. "Did anyone ever suggest that you might have ADHD?"

Emile shook his head. That possibility… well, he didn't want it to be a possibility! Sure, it wasn't the end of the world if he did, but… his parents didn't have to pay for more adderall than necessary, their neighbors didn't need any more reasons to call his mom a drug addict! And… the counselor at his high school had to be right. He was stupid… wasn't he? Learning disabilities just made you stupid…

He was useless. Regardless of what his professor thought.

"Getting into university at seventeen years old is no easy fit," Gilliam kept rambling. "I remember Walter reading your essay to me—"

"Walter?"

"...oh, right! Professor Freeman." Emile's eyes darkened a bit, as if he already knew what was about to be said. Gilliam just laughed. "Yeah, he immigrated from Germany in the late forties I think… poor guy. Changed his last name and everything! Yeah… so anyway, he read your essay to me. We fought a lot of people to have you accepted! I just… I have to ask you. Have you ever had issues like that in school?"

Emile nodded.

"And not in school?"

"I… I guess, yeah… why?"

Gilliam just pulled a light purple post-it note, scribbled something on it, scribbled the same thing again after opening his pen, and handed it to the very confused Emile.

"I said it before, but this time I mean it even more than last time. Go to the psych clinic. I'll write you a referral if you find it hard to talk to them, just let me know, but in my opinion you really should get evaluated for ADHD."

As Emile got up to leave, he fiddled with the note in his hands. It was… he was…

Was he really going to do that…?

"Austria," he mumbled as he reached the door.

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Freeman is Austrian, not German. It can be confusing, I know. His family immigrated in 1947. And his last name is Landau. He never changed it, he just goes by Freeman for teaching because nobody liked the ‘Germans' post-Holocaust."

"Did he tell you that…?"

"You said he read you my essay, I thought you guessed already."

He was sure he left Gilliam baffled. But it didn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach any.

* * *

 

"I can't have it," Emile mumbled against Remy's chest, the note semi-safely in his pocket. "I don't want to!"

"Emmy, gurl, you realize you're making a huge deal out of nothing, right?" Remy laughed. "It's ADHD. It's not terminal cancer."

That made Emile cry even harder.

"No, no… Emile, it's gonna be alright. I promise. Okay? You trust me?"

"My uncle would be so disappointed," Emile whispered. "He's the reason I'm here! And… and I'm disappointing him so much!"

"You're a legacy, sweets?"

"Kinda… I guess." He sniffled. Remy felt his heart break even more, and for what? A mental disorder, a learning disability, a small neurological difference that only made him (in Remy's opinion) even more awesome? "I don't want him to… to lose his status... especially not because of me! He worked so hard to get a teaching position and I don't want to be his downfall!"

"Who's this uncle, sweetie? If you having ADHD will be his downfall he's probably not such a good—"

"Doctor Landau— Umm, Doctor Freeman. He's my mom's uncle."

Remy was… needless to say he was speechless.

"Which Freeman are we talking about, love?"

"Head of psychology, Doctor Walter Freeman."

... _his name is LANDAU?!_

"...so after about six months of knowing you, you finally decide to tell me that you're the great-nephew of the head of department?!" Emile giggled against Remy's chest. He couldn't believe it! "Scandalous! Preposterous! Un-be-fucking-lievable! Emile!"

"I swear that's not how I got in," Emile muttered happily. "I wrote an essay, I swear I did!"

"Okay, but still, gurl, that's not a secret! It's too big to be called a secret."

"There's no such a thing as too big a secret," Emile said in a near-perfect imitation of Freeman's accent, and then giggled again. "And besides, it wasn't a secret. You never asked!"

"My love, when I die, I want you to tell my dad that I loved him," Remy said in an overly dramatic tone, pretending to faint right there on the couch. "Give all my possessions to Leah—"

"Stop it, you drama queen!"

"Oh, I'm a queen, alright."

The conversation was interrupted by Katherine doing as Katherine does - which today meant running from her room to the kitchen, grabbing an orange and running right back, as if not to be seen - but as soon as she disappeared, Emile broke into an even bigger giggle fit.

"My aunt would be so disappointed if she knew I was crying over this," he said at last, calming down from his laughing fit. "Caroline is the harsher one of them, and… and she used to visit Evanston every couple months when my mom was in university to help her get through her degree and raise my sister. My mom had my sister really young, you know? She and my dad were nineteen, and… okay, sorry, I'm getting sidetracked…"

"Please keep talking, love," Remy told him gently, with a soft smile and a pat on the head. "I can go make you some more tea if you'd like before we continue?"

"No, that's alright! Maybe later!" The blond almost threw himself off the couch in excitement. "I actually think… I think I should talk to them about this… I mean, Caroline would almost certainly get mad at me for thinking it'll ruin his career, and Walter would help me through the whole diagnosis thing… he did the same with Julie before we knew what she had is narcolepsy, you know? So…"

"So is there really anything to be scared of?"

Emile shook his head. Remy wiped his tear-streaked cheeks with gentle fingers, fixing his glasses right after that.

"I… I'm gonna do it. Okay? I'm gonna do it."

He was so proud of himself. It was so cute.

* * *

 

_Friday, March 21st, 2003; 15:43 p.m._

"Doctor," the resident student-psychiatrist ( _Thelma Grinberg, an overly boring MS student Emile already knew_ ) called as she stretched her hand to shake his uncle's hand. "That's a surprise."

"Since Emile is still a minor, I had to accompany him," he explained sharply. "Neither of his parents could come here today."

"Caroline could've come too," Emile mumbled.

"Your aunt has a busy schedule today, Emile."

"You do too…"

Thelma seemed incredibly confused, but kept going anyway. And it took her longer than was probably necessary to get through all the questions.

Emile hated people like that. (And so did his uncle.)

He was dropped off at his dorm before his uncle had to leave, and that probably spooked Remy more than it should have. The kind "Mr. Harris, nice to see you" didn't help any.

"How did it go?" Remy asked, looking almost straight at Emile.

"Quite well, I would say." The smile looked incredibly weird on the older man's face. "Call your mother for me. Tell her everything that happened today, ja?" Emile nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Emile."

"I didn't ask—"

And with a strict "I expect to see you at my office on Monday, Mr. Harris", the professor left the dorm building, leaving behind a happy blond and his flustered best friend.

"...what was _that_?!"

"I have to go there again a couple days before spring break for another test, and then after Passover for a TOVA," Emile explained, rather excitedly. "You know what a TOVA is, don't y—"

"It's that test where you click a button according to instructions, I know. Mueller explained it to everyone three days ago, Emmy."

"Oh right! And… and I guess that after those tests I'll know if I have anything!"

After a long moment of awkward silence, Emile tapped Remy's shoulder again. "Care to come over for the holidays? You didn't for Hanukkah and now my parents really want you to! I mean… I do too, but my parents haven't really met you yet and they think you're pretty cool and—"

"Sure, I'll come."

Emile had to do a bit of a double take. "Seriously? Remy, I don't think you understand what you're signing up for here, it's all my cousins from three different countries, most of them don't speak English, my grandparents, uncle Walter and aunt Caroline, maybe even mom's cousins if they'd be so grateful as to—"

"No, I get it, sweetie. I have, like, twenty cousins on Linda's side alone, more or less. I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Remy may have known before that he'll do anything to see Emile smile, but… he's never realized it until now. Probably? Maybe? But as Emile started bouncing happily and jumped in to hug him, Remy finally accepted the reality.

Coming over to Emile's during spring break was no trouble, but… in the long run, he would do anything to see him smile.

* * *

 

_Wednesday, April 16th, 2003_

This was… definitely not spring break anymore. Remy was pretty sure that the higher ups in administration would rip him a new nonexistent one when they found out why he took a week's vacation in the middle of the spring semester…

Then again, so did a lot of the other students, and some of the staff. So maybe he was exaggerating…?

Eh. Finals start the week after that and end in May. He can allow himself a week off.

And yet he still had no idea how he ended up like this, watching Prince of Egypt with his best friend and said friend's three-year old niece at nine in the morning, as said friend's mom was overworking herself in the kitchen trying to make space and food for over thirty people…

Oh, and there was a dog too. She was currently playing with a squeaky toy, but she was there.

He only processed that this is the situation he's in once Emile started trying to get his niece singing. He had no idea what was going on on screen, but… something was.

"Mom, where's everyone?" Emile called to the kitchen after failing - for the hundredth time - to engage Analiese.

"Where could everyone possibly be, Emile?"

"Walter and Caroline are in town for the things you forgot to buy, grandma and grandpa are probably at their connection…" he started mumbling, counting on his fingers in an odd fashion. "I don't know!"

"You just said so yourself," Remy laughed quietly, grabbing Emile's hands gently. "Let's go over this again. Walter and Caroline are in town, your grandparents are at their connection…"

"Yeah, I know that," he groaned, slightly frustrated. "I just… everyone… here. That's what… that's what I'm confused about. Where's everyone here."

"...where everyone is seated?" Emile nodded. "Oh gurl… do you wanna make place holders, organize the seating, do you want to…"

"I just want to make sure nobody wants to sit on both my sides. One is okay, but you have to sit on my other side and I'm worried about that."

Oh…

"Well, we're gonna make sure that nobody takes my seat, okay?" Remy asked, kissing Emile's cheek afterwards.

"I sit with Emile!" Analiese declared, her attention now directed at the boys. Emile started laughing and leaned over to pinch her chubby cheek.

"We will read together, and sing together, and if mom complains we're gonna tell her off, right Ana?"

The toddler nodded, extremely determined, and Remy felt his heart melt all over again.

This was too good to be true, and not even seeing his most feared professor walk through the door and sit down next to them in the living room could shake this feeling. For once, Remy wasn't scared of this man. Through some odd change of fate, or something like that.

"So this is your first time doing such a thing?" Doctor La— Doctor Freeman asked, smiling gently as Analiese bounced in his lap and rambled about everything she's done this week. "Participating in Passover?"

"Yes, sir."

"He's my uncle now, not our professor," Emile laughed, squeezing Remy's hand. "You don't have to be so scared of him."

It didn't work as instantly as he wanted it to, but as the night went on, Remy actually… found that he wasn't that scared of him anymore.

As he said, this was too good to be true. And nothing could ever seem to be able to shake this good feeling.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday, May 30th, 2003
> 
> "...your valedictorian, Jenna Miranda Wheeler."
> 
> "Class of 2003…"
> 
> New York was beautiful in May.
> 
> Sadly, that was not where Remy was heading today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it took me way too long to do this, but I can explain. Uhh…
> 
> So for those of you who don’t know, I haven’t been home since September, and I won’t be home for another… two weeks, more or less? I’ve been to places where I couldn’t know if I’d have working wifi or any wifi at all so updating this fic has been a mission. So I do whatever I can to update at reasonable times.
> 
> With that being said, I finished this chapter way back last month while on a two week long trek in Nepal and haven’t had the opportunity to upload it, so I’m grateful I can now. Because this one… was a hell of an exposition ride for a lot of shit I planned a long long time ago.
> 
> Quick disclaimer - some bits of this chapter deal with the definition of transgender, and a specific learning disorder. The definition of transgender mentioned in this chapter has been taken from the DSM-IV-TR, which is a defunct edition of the DSM that came out in the year 2000 and has been replaced by the DSM-5 in 2013. The definition has since been changed and separated, and I believe it is now called gender dysphoria, though I’m not quite sure. But it does not reflect my opinions on how dysphoria is related to being trans, I do believe (and have several sources to back me up, including the DSM-5) that you don’t have to be dysphoric to be trans. The same goes for this learning disorder, what is said in this chapter reflects only the way the characters think of it - and it will change later on, I can assure you - and not at all what I would think or say about it.
> 
> Trigger warning: along with the usual stuff, this chapter includes (rather controversial) opinions/ideas about the definition of transgender (as mentioned in a now-defunct, but then the most recent, edition of the DSM), discussion of abortion, mentions of past self-harm, discussion of personality disorders and hospitalization, panic attacks, and description of rejection sensitive dysphoria. I’m pretty sure I forgot something though, so let me know if I have so I can add it.
> 
> So now, without any further ado, please enjoy the mess.  
> Allons-y!

_Friday, May 30th, 2003_

_"...your valedictorian, Jenna Miranda Wheeler."_

_"Class of 2003…"_

New York was beautiful in May.

Sadly, that was not where Remy was heading today.

According to Linda, Stephen was going to go on a business trip for at least two weeks in June, starting late May. So Remy was invited over for the summer. Not his first choice, but Leah begged him to come and Emile said that it might be a good idea. But…

Spending more than a day at Linda's, combined with the knowledge that Jenna and India have graduated just a few days ago and Chris hasn't, was a good enough reason for Remy to feel shitty. And he did.

The main upside was that Georgia was beautiful in May too.

He managed to cheer himself up somewhat by thinking of the good things that happened this month - Emile's TOVA results ( _9/9 inattentive symptoms, 4/9 hyperactive-impulsive, definitely has inattentive type ADHD_ ), India's name being called at graduation instead of her deadname, Jenna graduating valedictorian, his friends moving to Virginia and so on - by the time the taxi from the airport pulled up in front of the, by now, rather familiar house.

And then his stomach dropped.

Stephen was still there.

"Do you need help with those bags, Rebecca?" He asked, eyeing the massive, neon pink duffel bag and the incredibly heavy purple backpack that sat on the sidewalk near Remy as he tapped his foot nervously.

"Not from you I don't. Thanks for the offer, but… no thanks."

He was too proud to admit that the duffel was too heavy for him to lift and he could barely drag it, but he packed most of his clothes and books in it. Some were mailed home. But not most.

"That shit gotta be heavy as fuck—"

"I said, no thank you. Now, move out of my fucking way."

Leah was napping by the time he finally dragged everything inside, but Rachel was doodling in the living room, smiling brightly when she saw him come through the door. She abandoned her crayons and waddled all the way to hug him.

As much as he barely knew her, Remy definitely loved Rachel too.

"I'm going to daycare," she mumbled somewhat, trying to use words she didn't quite know yet. "You have to come!"

"You're such a big girl!" He ruffled her pigtails, picking her up. She was so light for a two-year old. "Going to daycare already?"

"Mmhm."

"I'm so proud of you!"

She just hugged his neck and babbled on about her friends and daycare, her hand flying and her almost falling from his hold. This was another happy thing to add to the list.

He wasn't happy. But this was happy. For now.

* * *

 

Stephen left on his business trip at around seven thirty, and Remy took a huge sigh of relief. Leah also woke up from her nap a few hours earlier, all grumpy and upset for some reason, and Remy tried talking her into telling him why she was so upset.

Linda said it was because of the nap. Leah only got even more upset.

"Why am I here?" Remy asked during dinner, while Leah entertained herself (and he was sure she didn't notice much) and Rachel was almost dozing off. "We haven't had a single good interaction since I was five years old, _Linda_."

"Am I no longer allowed to want to be around my son, _Remy_?" She stung back, looking anything but as aggressive as she just sounded.

"I'll be honest with you, kid. I know you don't like me. I can understand why. But what I don't understand is why you're bringing this up in front of your younger sisters. They're too young for this to—"

"I saw a movie about penguins on TV," Leah started rambling. "They're really weird…"

The argument stopped just as quickly as it started, and Leah was allowed to go on and on about penguins bringing rocks to each other. So he proceeded to just glare at Linda, who helped Rachel eat her pasta. This was awful, this was absolutely the worst situation he could've found himself in, and… he just wanted out.

And he kept wanting out even as Rachel already went to sleep, Leah was busy doing her homework last minute, and Linda asked Remy to help her clean up.

"I'm only here because Leah asked me to," he almost hissed as he was tasked with packing the leftovers in incredibly familiar tupperware containers.

"I want to spend more time with you, Remy. I'm still your mother—"

"Well, you haven't acted like it, like, ever!"

Linda sighed, putting the plate she was holding in the dishwasher. "I don't want to sound like I'm making any excuses—"

"So don't make any."

"—but I was barely your age when I had you. This is no excuse, I'm not trying to say that I had no idea what I was doing because of that, but I sacrificed so much of my life to raise you!"

"You could've aborted me! You could've been smart and used protection in the first place!"

"Condoms aren't a fail-proof—"

"Face it, Linda. You never wanted me. You're not homophobic or transphobic for the sake of it, it's clear you have at least some level of respect to queer people. You just never wanted me in the first place."

The next plate she was holding broke in the sink. "How fucking dare you say that?!"

"I'm just saying—"

"I have never wanted something in my life more than I wanted you!" Her screams hurt Remy's ears, going as far as to make Leah cry in the other room. Linda immediately lowered her voice. "I know I've been a bad mother to you. I regret every decision I've ever made while I was married to your father, except being married to him and having you. And I've spent every day since leaving you and your father regretting my decisions, and wanting to make it up to you, but you kept pushing me away. How do you think that makes _me_ feel, huh? Do you still think you're the only one who's been robbed of something in this relationship?"

"...you had Leah while you were still married to Dad" was all he could say. And he hoped he'd have the last word. "Was she a mistake too?"

Sadly, you can't always get what you want.

"Leah… is problematic. But she wasn't a mistake either. None of you are, and you can stop saying that. Whatever is wrong with her does not make her a mistake. Just as your gender identity disorder does not make you a mistake."

"No, you're right. It doesn't. It makes me transgender. A female-to-male man. You know those terms? Female to male, transgender? It's what people call it nowadays."

There was another long moment of silence as Linda cleaned up the broken plate and Remy finished packing up the leftovers, and Leah stopped crying.

It was a stressful silence. Very typical of home life with Linda Brigham-Hollander.

"...you may not have come at a time I liked," she sighed after everything, falling into a chair. Remy was ready to leave the kitchen, but this wouldn't let him. "I know we could've… waited a few more years. But you came when you did, and I don't regret that. You were never a mistake. I may have a hard time understanding… what… your identity. I'm trying my best to educate myself now, you know—"

"That's almost five years too late."

"I don't know what Leah told you about her school life, but whatever hardships she got understanding stuff—"

"She has no trouble understanding stuff as far as I can see—"

" _Educational_ stuff. School material. She got that from me. Education comes harder for me, you may not know that. I was never the brightest student and I only completed my high school diploma when you were three years old. Don't get me wrong, this has nothing to do with you. But I couldn't learn when you asked me to. It felt like—"

"Linda, it didn't take Dad five years to be able to call me by my name and use the correct pronouns. Even if you don't mean it this way, this is bullshit to me. And I hope you get it."

And then he got up and left, leaving her to her own. If she cried, well… that's none of his business.

* * *

 

_Sunday, June 8th, 2003_

Nathalie and Emile were getting ready for the Tony awards when Emile had a panic attack.

No, that's not true. Emile has been having panic attacks all week long for some weird reason he couldn't explain, most likely not being able to talk to Remy all week long since his phone died and he couldn't get a new one just yet. But today was the worst one. So Julie lent him her phone for a call, to explain himself so he won't panic so much, but…

But Remy wouldn't understand. He'd be mad if Emile tried to call him from Julie's phone because of some panic attacks… and then he'd hate him, and then… and then…

Then he wouldn't have a best friend anymore…

What was India's phone number again…?

She picked up on the fourth ring. "India McGinty—"

"It's Emile," he almost sobbed the second she picked up. "I… I have a question…"

"Oh, honey, of course. What is it?"

"Do you think Remy would hate me…? My phone died and I can't get another one until next week and—"

"Emile, are you… are you crying right now?"

"No… I did before, I just…"

She sighed before clearing her throat. That's it, she hates him too—

"Do you mind if I pass you over to Jenna? She's better at this than me."

"...okay…"

"...Emile?" Jenna's voice was softer than India's somehow. She'd never raise her voice, but Emile was scared of the people who'd be there when she does once she becomes a lawyer. "Can you please explain what's going on?"

"Well… my phone died, and I can't tell Remy because he's with his mom and I don't wanna call him while he's with his mom, so I'm scared that if I don't talk to him all summer he'll hate me and then he won't talk to me anymore and I can't—"

"Let's slow down, you're only upsetting yourself. Remy is your best friend, right?"

"Yeah… I mean, I like him a bit more but, but it's not like I can just tell him that, and…"

"That's fine, we're not gonna focus on this for now. That's for another time. But he's your best friend, right?"

"Yeah, I just told you!"

"So why would he hate you for something like that? He's going to understand, I'm sure."

"I don't… know… it just feels like he might…"

"I know. This feeling fucking sucks, doesn't it?" She chuckled. Emile couldn't answer to that. He just… he couldn't. "But it's not healthy to dwell on this feeling. It might become a self-fulfilling prophecy if you fret about it so much."

"What do you mean…?"

"...have I ever told you that I was institutionalized until my second year of college?"

He couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. "No…"

"Okay. So I'll tell you now. I… how squeamish are you? I don't want to… trigger anything…"

"I don't know… I don't… I don't think I really mind much…?"

"Okay, I… I'll censor it anyway. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah."

"So when I was fourteen, I started harming myself. It's not… it was what you'd think, but not for the most part. I didn't cut really. But my parents knew, and they gave a ton of fucks and not just because they had a reputation to uphold like I thought they did back then. They just… they gave all the fucks."

"Okay… I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't apologize, you had no part in this. And you never will. I promise."

"Okay."

"Two years after I started, my parents sent me to a psych ward. At that time they thought I was depressed, it was too early to diagnose me properly, so… I've lived for three years on doses of antidepressants that didn't do a whole lot, because nobody knew. I was finally diagnosed with borderline personality disorder when I was nineteen, my medication prescription was fixed and I was let out of there when they decided I'm doing well enough to be able to live on my own again. I spent my first year of law school with a nurse attached to my hip, can you imagine?" She laughed, and Emile struggled to hold back a smile.

"Actually yeah… my sister is narcoleptic…"

"Oh shoot, sorry… didn't mean that. Anyway… back to the topic at hand, yeah? I was… infatuated, for a lack of a better word, with this guy. His name was David. I thought I was in love with him, but it turned out I idolized him to a point where he became my favorite person, and that was an incredibly toxic experience. He was like… like Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted. But dialed up to eleven. He was a fucking asshole and I haven't seen him in years… he was transferred to another place after an incident that involved one of my friends, she ended up almost killing herself because of this guy. And my anxiety over being perfect for him, over making him like me and making sure that he keeps liking me, made me extremely unhealthy in the long run."

There was a pause, possibly for Emile to process. Most likely. This wasn't fair… this was totally not fair! Why did good people have to go through shitty things?

"My next favorite person after him was a girl I dated for a couple months before India." Jenna sounded kind of breathless at that, as if she was crying herself. "And… she made me talk to her. She asked me questions for clarification all the time and helped me with my anxiety, especially when I felt like this. I was tiring, but… it's the effort she put into this that counted. Emile… you gotta talk to Remy."

"But… but I can't…"

"Who said? Communication is key. I know it might be really hard, especially for you, but… call him. It's his birthday soon, right? In July?"

"Yeah…"

"Call him. Write down everything you want to tell him and tell him then. I promise it'll make your anxiety a lot easier to manage."

* * *

 

"Remy," Linda called from the living room as he was heading to bed. This was becoming ridiculous…

"I told you, I'm not talking to you for the rest of this—"

"I can't read a single word in this cursed book of yours."

"...what book?"

"This DSM thing. Remy, darling, why do you need this book? It's so difficult to understand, couldn't they have written better books about this?"

He ended up not going to bed after all, instead resorting to making himself tea and going to sit on the couch next to her.

"Mom, that's… that's the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders, mom. It's existed since the fifties. This is the revised version. They can't make it simpler to understand, I don't think."

"Well, your grandma's always said that if a child can't understand what's written, it's because the writer is bad at what they're doing."

"And so have a lot of my professors, but sadly this is what we have to work with. What's so confusing anyway?"

"I was trying to read about your… your thing, the gender identity disorder thing…" she turned the book to him. The passages in this section have been highlighted the day he bought the book and he knew them by heart. Well, for the most part. "I'm sorry, but the words are just… long and confusing."

"...that's fine… it's totally fine, I can… I can simplify it for you…"

"I don't need you to simplify it for me, I know English. I just… I can't read this! Big and confusing academic paper words."

Oh fuck…

"I'm a painter, not an academic, Remy. I can't read. You know this. You've known this forever."

"I forgot you're dyslexic…"

"And what does forgetting that help you?"

"Nothing… let's… let's go over this together, okay? The sections that apply to me." He waited for Linda to nod, rather reluctantly, before putting on his own pair of reading glasses.

"So, to diagnose someone with gender identity disorder there are two criteria, identifying with the opposite gender and feeling dysphoria. In order to meet those criteria, you gotta not be intersex, which I think is pretty stupid, and also it has to affect your daily life."

"Yeah, I know that. Your shrink told us that when you were fourteen. Let's move on, okay?"

"...okay. In boys, aka trans girls, this doesn't apply to me… okay. Girls with GID, aka trans boys, display a intense negative reactions to parental expectations, blah blah blah, you never had any expectations of me so this doesn't apply…"

"No no no no no, you will read this out. No skipping."

"Okay, fine! Girls with GID display intense negative reactions to parental expectations or attempts to have them wear dresses or other feminine attire. Some may refuse to attend school or social events where such clothes may be required... They prefer boy's clothing and short hair, are often misidentified by strangers as boys, and may ask to be called a boy's name. Reminds you of something?"

"...go on."

"Their fantasy heroes, yeah no, I never had fantasy heroes…"

"You had She-Ra."

"Yeah, but she made me gay, not trans, mom. Prefer boys as playmates, contact sports… yeah, none of that either…"

"You used to play soccer as a kid. Your dad has a lot of pictures of that, you know."

"I… didn't actually know that… huh."

"You didn't learn to kick a ball from your father, though. I'll tell you that."

It took a bit of time for Remy to stop himself from giggling, deciding to sip his tea instead. It didn't work very well.

"Yeah… well… moving on, ‘they show little interest in dolls or any form of feminine dress up or role-play activity. A girl with this disorder may occasionally refuse to urinate in a sitting position. She may claim that she has or will grow a penis and may not want to grow breasts or menstruate. She may assert that she will grow up to be a man. Such girls typically reveal marked cross-gender identification in role-play, dreams and fantasies.' Does any of this sound familiar, mom? Because I don't… I don't actually know."

"Until now… yeah. All of that sounds incredibly familiar. Look, I…"

"I know what's you're gonna say, and please don't. It's fine. I know you panicked, I know you said things you didn't mean to, but… can we leave that for now? That's a bridge we're gonna deal with later. Now, adults with GID…"

They ended up staying up for far longer than either of them wanted to, but it was alright. Linda wanted to learn. Remy was willing to teach her.

They only barely made it to bed at three in the morning, the page bookmarked for tomorrow, when they'll continue reading.


End file.
